


A Vow Fulfilled

by tm_writes



Series: A Vow Fulfilled [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Pol!Jon, Season 8 Rewrite, Sweet!Jaime, fixing everything I don’t like, not Dany friendly, which is alot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-04 21:28:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 92,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20477744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tm_writes/pseuds/tm_writes
Summary: Outraged and disgusted by his sister, Jaime rides North to salvage the one last scrap of honour he has left by protecting Sansa Stark.A complete Season 8 rewrite and afterwards





	1. Chapter 1

Jaime looked at his sister in growing horror. She had seen, like him, what those things were, what was coming for them. She stood there, defiant, beautiful and mad, unwilling to commit men and armies to the North. Unwilling to fight for the living.

She rested her hand on her stomach, claiming their child was there, and he felt a roll of nausea in his stomach. Hadn't he learned? Hadn't losing Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen taught him the fallacy in laying with her? He knew what she was; he always had and had loved her anyways. Through all the schemes, the plots, the lies and the betrayals. He'd loved her when she'd slept with other men and turned from him in disgust when he'd made his way back to her, after losing his hand. He'd loved her through the worst hurt a man could face- the deaths of his children. But this, he shook his head. He couldn't love her through this, and he couldn't stay. Not when he knew what was coming for them all. Seeing what Jon Snow brought them and knowing that an army of the dead marched in Westeros, he’d pledged to fight for the living; and Cersei would not.

He allowed himself one last glance back at King’s Landing, wondering if he'd ever see her again – the woman he loved his entire life. A true monster. Then he shook himself and turned his horse North. North to Winterfell, where all this madness had started. It was always the Starks; he idly thought as he rode his horse hard. Ned Stark, the most honourable man in the Kingdom that had found him, sword wet with the King's blood, naming him Kingslayer. He almost smiled that most thought that was the worst of his crimes.

It wasn't. He'd pushed Ned Stark's young son from a window, crippling him all to keep his and Cersei's secret safe. He'd heard rumours that Bran Stark had returned to Winterfell and wondered if he'd lose his head the moment he rode into the Keep. It would be justifiable to be sure, but Jaime hoped he would at least have a chance to defend himself.

Jaime shook his head. No, he thought, that action was not defendable. But perhaps these Stark's would give him a chance to die with honour, on the battlefield. He had to be one of the most experienced military commanders at their disposal. Despite what he'd seen and heard of Jon Snow, he was still barely a man and Jaime had a lifetime of war under his proverbial belt. Surely, they would need him at their most dire hour. Even with one hand, he was still a better swordsman than many in Westeros.

His thoughts turned to the other Stark that had suffered the most at Lannister's hands. Sansa Stark, Ned's daughter who had been beaten and tormented by Joffrey, mocked by his sister and married to Tyrion by his father to secure the North. If there was anyone that had a reason to hate the Lannister's, it was her. He wondered how she and her brother were managing with a woman like Daenerys Targaryen now in the North.

He knew that his little brother would be there; besides his so-called Dragon Queen. Jaime suppressed a shudder every time he thought of the silver-haired woman. She was as mad as Cersei; even he could see that. Power-hungry and forceful and with two grown dragons to do whatever she pleased. He had to wonder why on earth Tyrion had ever thrown his lot in with her. He didn't let his thoughts stay on Tyrion for long. Theirs was a long and complicated history, filled with love, regret, anger and old hurts. Still, if anyone were willing to welcome him into Winterfell, to see past Jaime's crimes and what he might add to the fight, it would be him. Despite their troubled past, Tyrion loved him.

And then he thought of Catelyn Stark and the promise he'd made so long ago. Some might argue he'd fulfilled that promise by giving Brienne of Tarth armour and sword to find and protect Sansa. He'd spoken briefly to Brienne in King’s Landing and knew she was Sansa Stark's sworn shield. She was loyal and fiercely protective of the woman, and Jaime knew that Lady Stark would have no better protection; save perhaps him.

He'd also sworn an oath. So many oaths. So many promises. His life was littered with their brokenness, and he felt them like a weight on his soul. Something was chasing him North, his last chance to truly make himself someone he could be proud of. Now, on the edge of humanity's destruction, perhaps one vow could be completed. He'd promised Lady Stark he'd keep her daughters safe. With an army of the dead marching to Winterfell, he knew this was his last chance.

He laughed bitterly to himself. Sansa Stark was his last chance at any redemption, his last attempt in his pathetic life to do something good. He wondered if she'd order him dead the moment he dared show up at her home; a one-handed knight with no army at his back.

He spurred his horse on, hating the cold, nervous about what was in front of him, but despising what was behind him. He wondered how it was that he'd fought his entire life to be by his sister's side and now that the opportunity was before him to be with her, he had left. He felt freer as he rode. Miserable, but almost as if whatever had been crushing his soul by being around Cersei was lifting with every mile he put between them.

He knew their love was twisted; he had loved only her in his life, but he wasn't sure anymore that she had felt the same, or as deeply for him. He was like a possession that she wanted to own; a toy to take out when she was bored and use when he was needed. He’d begun to doubt that she was even capable of the type of love he had for her; the kind he'd heard his father had for his mother.

He shook his head at Lannister men and how unlucky in matters of the heart they were. He half wished he'd been given a chance to have a wife, a child. Life at the Rock where he had grown up before King Aerys had all but stolen him from the Great Lion for perceived slights against the Mad King. He could hardly remember not loving his twin, but even he knew it wasn't the love he'd heard in songs and poems. It was dark and twisted and wrong.

It took four weeks to arrive at Winterfell, and when he entered the gates, Bran Stark sat waiting for him. He would have laughed if it all hadn't been so fucking tragic. The boy he'd crippled, now a man of nineteen, waiting in his wheeled chair like some silent judge, there to condemn him for his crimes.

Surprisingly, it wasn't Bran Stark he had to answer to, but the Dragon Queen herself. Within the hour of his arrival, a hastily assembled tribunal was called, and he stood before them waiting to hear what they decided.

He was proud of his spine; he would not cower before the Dragon Queen, not knowing what her father was. He made no apologies to the Stark's; he had been at war with them, and he would do it all over again if pressed. He was Jaime Lannister, and finally, at 42, he was willing to own his name and all the baggage that came with that moniker. He would have smirked if he hadn't thought they would run him through right there in their dining hall. Afterall a lion does not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep. He could hear his father's voice in his head. Of course, he was facing wolves and dragons, not sheep. But still, he was not below them.

He shouldn't have been surprised when Brienne stood up for him; when she vowed, he was a good man, a changed man. It was her way to see in him what he and others could not. He worried about her feelings. He wasn't an idiot, and he could see something more simmering in her blue eyes. He was grateful, to be sure, for his fate might have been different had she not come to his defence, the only person save Tyrion who was willing, but he hoped she didn't press for more with him. He was done with all of that. He'd come North, vowing to protect Sansa Stark and knowing he would die doing so.

The woman in question was stunning, of that there was no doubt; perhaps the most beautiful woman in the entire Kingdom. Her beauty was so different from the silver-haired woman that sat on her opposite side; elegant, refined, timeless. She spoke clearly, succinctly and held his gaze. He met her blue eyes and let her take her fill. He had plenty of secrets, but he'd lay them bare before her if she gave him a chance to do this one good deed in his life.

He was shocked when she said they should give him a chance and couldn't help but notice the looks her brother kept sending her way. Jon Snow was doing his best to ignore the self-proclaimed Queen that sat on his one side while supporting his sister. Jaime saw the flash of hurt and betrayal in the Dragon Queen's eyes when Sansa made her pronouncement, and Jon Snow supported his sister. Then he watched, stunned as no one moved when Daenerys rose; only when Sansa Stark did. He grinned to himself and wondered how his father had known. He'd always said that Sansa Stark had been the key to the North, but Jaime knew she was more than that. She was a Queen in all but name; equally deserving as Cersei and Daenerys and perhaps even more worthy.

Lost in his thoughts of his life being spared, wondering how the Dragon Queen might take her revenge, and trying desperately to work out who was enemy and who was friend, Jaime almost missed the summons to Sansa Stark's chambers. Brienne was hissing at him, and he shook his head, wondering what Lady Sansa wanted with him. He hadn't been lying; he would tell her whatever she wanted to know.

When he entered her solar, Jaime noted that she was alone, and frowned slightly. Surely she didn’t trust him enough to be alone with her, did she?

"That will be all, Brienne," she said, dismissing her sworn shield.

"My Lady, it is not proper," Brienne started to say, and Sansa arched an elegant eyebrow at her.

"You vouched for him Brienne. You said he was a good man. Was that a lie?"

_Clever_, Jaime thought.

"No, My Lady. He is a good man. Ser Jaime will not harm you."

Sansa nodded. "Then you are dismissed. My brother said you were given an entire portion of the army to command. I'm sure they need you."

Brienne bowed slightly and took her leave, but not before shooting a glare Jaime's way as if to say he should behave. He smirked at her, and her eyes narrowed further until they were alone.

"Sit."

It wasn't a suggestion.

Jaime sat and eyed the woman in front of him warily.

"What did my brother mean? In the hall. When he said _the things we do for love_. You had a look on your face."

Jaime grimaced and wished she hadn't picked up on that. So far, Bran Stark had not said anything about Jaime’s role in his crippling and he had hoped to speak to the young man to see if he was going to spill Jaime’s secret. Now that plan was gone.

"The truth, Ser Jaime, or I'll have you killed, despite Brienne's support of you. I do not need more traitor's in my midst." Sansa’s voice was cold and determined, and Jaime saw she would have no issue ordering his death.

He swallowed hard and met her gaze. "I pushed Bran Stark from the Tower window the last time I visited Winterfell."

Jaime kept his eyes pinned to Sansa to see how she would react. He was impressed. Sansa barely even flinched, her gaze never wavering from his.

"Did my mother know when she sent you on your so-called quest?"

"Yes."

Silence dominated the room and Jaime could practically see Sansa working this information in her brain, trying to decide what to do with it. Finally, she spoke again, and Jaime knew his entire future would hinge on what she said.

"My brother…. I don't know exactly what he is. He told me that everything he went through. He said that he needed to be thrown from that tower. To become what he was meant to be, it had to happen. That it was his destiny." Sansa had turned away from him as the words hung, heavy in the air between them.

Jaime kept his silence, slightly stunned and unsure of what to say. This was not what he had expected. Sansa turned her face back to him, and her beauty struck him. And her youth. She had to be twenty years his junior, and yet he saw a lifetime of betrayal and hurt in her eyes. She hid it well in Great Hall, but not here in her private space.

"What am I supposed to do with you Ser Jaime?" she said it almost to herself.

"I came to fulfill my vow. To keep you safe. To die protecting you if that is what is required."

She snorted. "Where was your vow when your father married me to Tyrion? Or when your son beat me, humiliating me." In some ways, Sansa knew, it was completely unfair; he’d been her brother’s captive and unable to help her. Still, he was the only Lannister she could lash out at.

He felt the shame course through his body. When he was away from Cersei, things seemed so clear, and yet, whenever he had been back in King’s Landing, he had allowed her to dictate everything, including his behaviour. Sansa had every right to hate the Lannisters. They had been the architects of some of the most tragic events of her family's life. That included the deaths of both her parents and her brother and the maiming of another one. 

He sighed and rubbed at the whiskers on his face. "There is nothing I can say, to erase what my family has done to yours. I am here, because an army of the dead marches for your home, and this is the one last chance I have to keep my vow to your mother."

She held his gaze. "Do you think I am unsafe in my home, Ser Jaime?"

He scoffed. "I think we are all unsafe with two grown dragons and her." It was a risk, to be sure, to reveal his thoughts on the silver-haired queen to Sansa. But he had seen the tension between the two women and thought Sansa might not be quite as enamoured with Daenerys Targaryen as everyone else seemed to be.

Her eyes narrowed. Then her voice lowered. "You don't trust her." He could see the relief in her eyes as if she finally had another ally.

He nodded. "Nor should you. You are the biggest threat to her and my sister, Lady Sansa. Even my father saw that. It was why he wanted you as a Lannister." It was a risk bringing up her marriage that the Great Lion had forced her into.

She thought about that. She knew why she had been married to Tyrion; just like she knew why she'd been married to Ramsay Bolton. Sansa Stark was the key to the North.

The Northern Lords were displeased with her brother; hell, she was livid at him. He'd given away a title that Robb had died for, and to a foreign Queen. Sansa felt the unease each moment she was in the so-called Dragon Queen's presence. And now, another player was sitting in her solar, confirming what she knew to be true- that Daenerys could not be trusted.

Sansa had no idea what to think anymore. Jon didn't speak to her. He was at turns either ignoring her or belittling her. Gone was the closeness they had developed since she had ridden into Castle Black and she missed it desperately. Sansa was at a loss for how to secure Northern independence with the threat of dragon fire looming over all their heads, but she knew that she still wanted it; now more than ever.

She didn't trust the man in front of her; he'd broken so many vows. And yet. There was a sincerity in his eyes that she knew he wasn't faking. She had always felt that Jaime was the most unlike the rest of his family.

"Are you here for me or the living?" Her voice was quiet.

"Both."

"I don't trust her. And I don't like her," Sansa all but whispered, unsure why she was telling him such things. She met his gaze. "I vowed to never be afraid in my own home again, not after my last marriage. But ever since she arrived…." Sansa let her voice trail off until the only sound was the crackling of the fire. She straightened as if embarrassed she had revealed so much to him.

"You are too valuable to be wasted as a simple sword fighting in the field. You will attend the War Council with me in the morning, Ser Jaime."

He nodded and rose. Before he took his leave, he turned back and cocked his head. "Why?"

She didn't even look at him; her gaze was drawn to the fire. "My brother says you have a role to play in the upcoming war. And he's never been wrong about anything so far." She said nothing and then added quietly, "He says I can trust you." When her eyes met him, he saw his redemption there. "Don't let me down, Ser Jaime."


	2. Chapter 2

When Jaime left Sansa's solar, he ran smack into Brienne. He grunted and rubbed at his nose which was smarting.

"What did she want?"

"Why, hello, Brienne. Kind of you to wait for me," he said, tone sarcastic. Then he admonished himself. She was the reason he wasn't being strung up, but it still stung a bit that she didn't trust him with Lady Stark.

Brienne all but growled at him. "What were you thinking? Just showing up here as you did." She looked angry, and her eyes narrowed.

He sighed and then indicated the corridor. "Perhaps we can talk somewhere… else."

While he promised himself, he would tell Sansa Stark whatever she wanted to know, his history with Brienne was complicated. Whenever he was around her, she made him feel like he could be a better person; that he was the man that was worthy of the title Ser.

But he'd proven over and over again that he was weak. He'd only put up a token protest when Cersei had restarted their sexual relationship, even knowing what she'd done to the Sept of Baelor; what she'd driven Tommen too. He’d been back in the Red Keep and in Cersei’s bed without any second thoughts. He wondered what the honourable Brienne of Tarth would think of that?

Brienne all but dragged him out into the yard, and after the warmth of Sansa's solar, he was frozen. _Fuck, he hated the North_, he thought, not for the first time.

"Jaime, this is serious," she said once they were out in the open.

He couldn't help but grin at her. She was just so goddamn moral and virtuous. Brienne saw the world in black and white, whereas Jaime lived in a world of grey.

"Why are you here?" Her eyes had narrowed and he knew he had to say something, lest she took back her support of him.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "To fight, Brienne. That is all."

"And your sister?"

"Well, I'd imagine she's pissed at me, and I wouldn't be surprised if she sent someone to kill me," he told her honestly, for once not deflecting the question. They both knew that Cersei would be beyond livid that he had left her. Cersei would view it as the ultimate betrayal. Brienne, more than anyone, knew their complicated relationship.

"It can't be a game, Jaime. There are dragons. And Lady Sansa, she's special."

He looked at Brienne's severe face and saw the doubt there. Her voice had dropped to a whisper. Gods, he knew it. He didn't trust the Dragon Queen. Or his sister. Fuck, he didn't know who he trusted just that this was where he needed to be. Had to be. And sitting in front of Sansa, he'd felt the correctness of his decision. He was sure he would die here, but if he saved her, then it would be worth it. It hurt a bit that Brienne was questioning his motives. Her. Of all people. She was the one person who believed in him above all others. 

"Brienne, I know." He sighed, and she backed off, seeing the sincerity in his eyes.

"Alright. Were you given chambers?"

He shook his head, and she all but drug him back into the Castle and showed him to a room in the family wing where Sansa had told her he could stay. He was floored. He had been sure he'd be bunking in the tents with the mass of soldiers camped outside Winterfell's walls. This was too much, and he said as much to Brienne.

"She insisted." She looked like she wanted to say more but nodded her head. "I'll see you tomorrow, Ser Jaime."

Jaime slept fitfully, tossing and turning, unsure why he'd been afforded such a place in Winterfell’s walls when space was at a premium. He didn't for one moment think that Lady Sansa trusted him, but there had been something there when they had spoken; an unspoken sense of agreement.

Jaime dressed and made his way to the Great Hall to break his fast, slipping in, unnoticed to sit by himself, at least until his brother spotted him. After the impromptu trial yesterday, Tyrion had been spirited away by his Dragon Queen. No one could miss her anger at Cersei's betrayal, and now she had two Lannister brothers to contend with. Jaime could all but see the paranoia rolling off of her. Tyrion gave a curt nod of his head and then went back to avoiding him, knowing now was not the time to speak to one another.

That suited Jaime; it gave him time to observe everyone else. He'd watched in King’s Landing as Jon Snow's eyes couldn't stay off the pretty little Dragon Queen. Now the man sat beside her, all but ignoring her and answering her in short, perfunctory sentences. Jaime could have sworn the bastard was half in love with her, but now- now he seemed to recoil in disgust each time she tried to catch his eye. Jaime wondered what happened between them to have such a distance.

When Lady Sansa entered, Jaime, like everyone else, was drawn to her. She'd taken to wearing her hair in a Northern style; braided and long down her back. Her dress was almost like armour and a fearsome sight to behold- leather and sharp angles, black and severe. _She almost looked like a dragonfly_, Jaime thought wistfully. Still, even with the less than feminine gown, she was stunningly beautiful, and Jaime felt a warmth spread through him as he observed her, which was quite shocking considering he’d never viewed any woman that way except Cersei.

Sansa missed nothing, her Tully blue eyes locking immediately onto his. He felt an odd jolt to his system, that she sought him out first. He remembered eyes like that, only belonging to her mother. He'd admired Catelyn Stark and how much she had loved her children. In that, she and Cersei had been alike. Both had been willing to do anything to see to their safety.

Jaime felt the bench beside him tilt and looked up in shock to see The Hound take his place beside him, the coarse man all but snarling into his meal.

"Lannister cunt," he mumbled, and Jaime grinned.

"Hound."

Then they looked at one another and shared a grim look.

"Fucking hell of a place to meet one last time," Sandor grunted out. He'd make no apologies for leaving this man's son to die that night of the Blackwater. As far as he could tell, Joff had deserved what he had coming to him.

But Sandor did wonder about Jaime sitting here in this Northern castle, an army of the dead bearing down on them when his sister sat on the Iron Throne. He never imagined the day when Jaime would leave her side; and not now, when the Old Lion wasn't there to keep them apart.

"Look at them," Jaime all but muttered.

"Fucking inexperienced," Sandor agreed.

"Who else is here?"

He might not ever get along with a man like Sandor Clegane, but he was one of the best fighters in Westeros and had survived many battles and Jaime knew the man made them stronger.

Sandor heaved a sigh. "Near as I can tell, the silver-haired bitch only listens to Mormont and the leader of the cockless army. She’s suspicious of your brother and her and the pretty bastard glare at one another. The Little Bird, well, she has Yohn Royce in her corner, but the Dragon Queen would sooner slit her own throat than listen to a word out of her mouth, even though she’s smarter than almost all of them put together.”

"Little bird?" Jaime grinned. It seemed Lady Sansa had more than one admirer. He'd heard the stories of course, how the big man had protected her when he could, but as far as he could tell, it was all one-sided. She didn't even glance his way.

Sandor grunted and glared at Jaime, and the Kingslayer held up his hand. Then he looked to the front bench and saw more ice between Dany and Sansa than outside the Castle.

Jaime grunted his agreement. It was clear there was a power struggle between the two women, but when one of them had two dragons, it wasn't much of a contest and that made him worry for Lady Sansa.

Sandor leaned in closer. "They've never fought in Westeros. The Dothraki and the Unsullied. And that one," he said, indicating Daenerys, "won't fucking listen to anybody, except perhaps the pretty bastard she was fucking on the boat to White Harbour." Jaime's eyebrows raised at that and Sandor gave him a knowing look.

"Doesn't look like they're in love now," Jaime observed.

Sandor grunted and sat back. "Right before you showed up, something happened. Something changed. Not sure if we're better or worse off because of it."

"Why tell me this?"

Sandor looked him in the eye. "Spent my whole life in the service of you Lannister cunts." He paused. "I'll most likely die here, and if not, well, your sister has a man I promised to take care of. But nothing scares me more than those fucking dragons. I'm big but quiet, and people don't notice me. Don't notice I see how they look at each other, or how they don't. Not that fucking stupid."

Jaime looked at the Hound deeper now. Gone was the rage and crazy anger that had seemed to drive him. He appeared more composed. And just as deadly. Jaime knew how smart the man was, and he’d proven it once again.

"I'm here for her. I made a vow, to her mother. I intend to honour that vow," Jaime said suddenly, and Sandor's eyes widened slightly and then narrowed.

"See that you do."

Jaime felt a bit of a chill at the big man's implied threat. He nodded.

"I will."

Then the big man stood and stalked from the Hall. Jaime watched as Sansa rose and followed him out, and while a part of him wanted to know what she might have to say to him, at that moment Brienne sat, and he dug into his meal, leaving Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark to hash out whatever they had to say to one another.

Sansa had seen Jaime the moment she entered the Hall to break her fast. He'd occupied far too many of her thoughts since he'd arrived yesterday. She wondered if he were simply a distraction from her anger at her brother.

Jon had all but ignored her and Arya since he'd come back with her. Sansa wasn't an idiot; she hadn't survived Cersei, Petry and Ramsay to be burnt to a crisp by dragons, but something was going on with her brother. They had been so close before he'd gone to Dragonstone. She'd begged him to stay, and he had left, even knowing that Petry was here. He hadn't even asked where Baelish was since he had been back. One of the most dangerous players in the Game of Thrones, and he acted as if it didn't matter. The one short conversation they'd had, he begged her to trust him, and she was trying, but he was making it almost impossible.

Then Jaime Lannister had shown up and thrown everything in her world into chaos. She knew Brienne; trusted her with her life. And apparently, the only reason Sansa was even alive was because of Jaime Lannister. She had never known that always just assuming that Brienne had somehow found her on her own. It made her feel… funny to think that she somehow owed him. In her world, people always collected when she was in their debt. It made her wonder if he wanted something else. He said he was there to protect her; had answered her questions, even admitting to pushing Bran from the window. It had been a test which he had passed, as she had already known that he had committed that horrid crime. It appeared that Jaime was telling the truth, but Sansa still didn’t trust him. Yet.

She was pragmatic enough to know that he was one of the most brilliant military minds at their disposal. Much like the man she was currently following. She'd given Sandor Clegane a week since he'd rode back into Winterfell to come and find her. He hadn't, and she was sick of it. This ended now. She never thought she'd see him alive again, and he was here in her home again, and ignoring her.

Arya had told her what he'd done for her; Sansa got a funny feeling thinking about how close they were. She was happy that someone had looked out for her little sister but wondered why he wouldn't speak to her. They were almost to the stables when he turned and all but snarled at her.

"What do you want Little Bird?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. He looked slightly chagrined at his outburst and scrubbed a hand over his half-ruined face.

They stood there, staring at one another.

"Why are you ignoring me?" She didn't look wounded or hurt but perturbed and slightly angry. He liked it. She had changed. He'd heard what she'd survived; who she'd survived. It made him sick to think about what she had been through and not for the first time did he wish he’d been beside her to protect her from that Bolton cunt.

"I'm not. You're the Lady Stark. I'm a dog. Nothing to ignore."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at him. He stalked closer to her, until they were close.

"Heard about you. Heard what happened to you. Heard who happened to you." His voice was low and raspy and she was reminded of another time when he’d tried to scare her with his words. She wasn’t that girl anymore, and the sooner he learned that, the better they’d be.

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't be crude, Sandor."

He gave her a small little grin.

"Also heard he's dead. How?"

She smiled, almost as feral as that white wolf that stalked around the Castle. "Hounds."

He barked out a huge laugh. "Well done, Little Bird."

She grinned, loving his praise. "There it is. I thought you'd forgotten my name."

His eyes widened, and then he shook his head. "You've changed."

"So have you."

He nodded at that. Then he sighed. "What do you want Little Bird?"

"I want you in the War Council. With me. Along with Ser Jaime and Lord Royce. The three of you are some of the most experienced fighters we have. I might not have dragons," she said, grimacing and looking like she'd eaten something sour, "but I do know the value of men who have fought. And won. Experienced men that are loyal to me."

He cocked his head and saw the truth in her eyes. "Alright." There was something that warmed through his massive chest when she said she wanted him by her side. He would die for her, and he knew he wasn’t the only man in the castle that felt that way. Sandor was almost sure that Jaime Lannister's plan was to give his life so Sansa could live. 

Before she turned and went back to the Hall, he grabbed her arm. "Sansa, wait."

She turned, stunned, not sure he'd ever said her name ever before. He swallowed hard and came closer, lowering her voice. "Be careful. She's not right." They both knew who he referred to. 

Sansa's eyes narrowed, and she saw he was just as uneasy with the silver-haired queen as she was. She let out a shaky breath. First, it had been Lord Royce who had confided he didn't trust her. She hadn't been sure that she could trust him as he was utterly loyal to her. But then Jaime had said the same thing last night. And now, Sandor, a man who had only ever tried to protect her.

"Don't be a stranger." She saw he was going to protest. "Please." She met his eyes. "I need people I can trust, Sandor."

He nodded. "I'll be there."

Then he turned and stalked away, and Sansa was left with a warm feeling. She knew that he would always have her back, and she'd broken the ice between them. She felt better knowing that Jaime and Sandor were here for her. She might not have dragons, but she had people loyal to her because they believed in her. Not out of fear; but love. Now, she had to figure out what was wrong with her brother, and all while not angering the silver-haired bitch that could burn her alive at a moment's notice. As dangerous as Petry, Cersei and Ramsay had been, they all paled in comparison to a mad queen with two dragons.


	3. Chapter 3

After Sansa and Sandor left the Hall, Jaime sat, eating under the watchful eye of Brienne and Pod. It was a wonder what she had done with the boy, and now, here she was — commanding a flank of the army. He frowned at that, wondering why they had decided to meet an army such as the one that was coming for them in open combat. He risked another glance to the front of the table but saw that Jon Snow had left and that the Dragon Queen was there with her advisors, including Tyrion. When his eyes drifted further, he met Bran’s.

Ahhh, yes. The boy he'd crippled. For Cersei. The cousin he'd killed. For Cersei. The people whom he would have killed in Riverrun. For Cersei. It beat like a staccato drum in his head. All the hateful things he did, for Cersei.

When he pushed his plate back, no longer hungry, his eyes met Brienne's.

"Where will you fight, Ser Jaime?"

He shrugged. "Wherever you tell me. War Council later?"

Her eyes widened as if she was shocked that he knew and was invited. "They are like children, Brienne, playing at war." She stiffened. She had been given new roles and responsibilities and hated that he was questioning them. Brienne finally felt like she was valued here, and hated that Jaime was questioning those people whom had put their trust in her.

"They are doing all they can."

Jaime scoffed. "Still doesn't make them more knowledgeable than me." He sighed and looked around, noting that Lord Royce was also absent.

"Is it arrogance, Ser Jaime, that has you say such things?"

He turned his head back to her and shook it. "Do you forget who my father was, Lady Brienne?"

She did not; Lord Tywin was not an easily forgettable man, and even dead, his reputation loomed largely.

Jaime leaned in. "Tell me Brienne, does Jon Snow know more about war than Lord Royce? The Hound? Me?"

She bristled. Jaime shoved back from the table. He needed to speak with Bran Stark, and not play these games with Brienne. He knew he’d upset her, but he had no time for niceties; not knowing what was coming for them.

After Sansa had left Sandor, she turned to go back to the Great Hall, when she was dragged into an alcove by her sister.

"Something's wrong with Jon."

Sansa snorted. She knew exactly what was wrong with Jon; she was about five feet and had silver hair. Arya smirked when Sansa said as much.

"Gods, that tongue of yours. It's a weapon, sister." The two sisters shared a brief smile. They were closer than they had ever been and it felt nice to be able to rely so fully on her family.

Then Arya indicated her head. "What did you say to him?" Both knew they were speaking of Sandor now.

Sansa sighed and caught a wary look in her sister's eyes.

"I asked him why he was ignoring me, and I told him how I killed Ramsay."

Arya grinned. "Bet he liked that." She could imagine Sandor's reaction to hearing that Sansa had fed her husband to his hounds. He'd appreciate the irony. Sandor hadn’t shut up about Sansa in their travels, and Arya knew the big man had a soft spot for her sister.

"He did."

They were silent for a moment.

"He's a shit, Sansa."

Her sister sighed.

"He saved me, Arya, in King’s Landing. You as well."

Arya held her gaze.

"And we need him. Him and Ser Jaime and Lord Royce. The three of them have forgotten more about war and tactics than we'll ever know. Including Jon."

Arya cocked her head at her sister. She was smart; she'd give her that. And correct.

"I'll find Jon. You find Bran. Family meeting in the Godswood before the next War Council." It was past time the Stark’s had this out.

The sisters nodded and parted.

Arya didn't like the Dragon Queen. She had been prepared to welcome a warrior into her home, but not the spoiled, ill-tempered and controlling woman her brother had come home with.

Arya missed nothing. It was her most exceptional skill, other than the one she had with a blade. She saw things others did not. She knew that her brother had been sleeping with the pretty Queen. Just like she knew something had changed. He could barely stand to look at her now, and she would not go into war with secrets amongst the Starks. She slipped into his room and watched as he didn't even realize she was there, so lost in his brooding and his burden. Arya wished he would share it with them; they were family, but he seemed so determined to go it alone, forgetting their father’s words about the pack surviving.

"Jon," she finally said and watched his head whip around to her.

"For fuck sakes, Arya, what are you doing?"

"You're coming with me," she told him, her tone brooking no argument.

He shook his head. "Leave me, Arya."

"No."

He sighed, deep and almost painful, pinching the bridge of his nose. He reminded her so much of Father at that moment. She'd driven him to distraction with her wild ways and had seen him make the same gesture more than once.

She crossed the room and reached him. "We're your family Jon. Come to the godswood."

"There's a war council…"

"Which will wait. We are Starks Jon. This is still our home." It was a slight and not so subtle jab at him and who he had invited in.

"I needed her armies, Arya." His voice was whisper quiet.

"I know. And you need your family, Jon."

He nodded finally, and they left the room, taking back passageways until they were out of the Castle and on their way to weirwood tree.

Sansa knew where she'd find Bran; it was where he often was, in front of their family's weirwood tree in the godswood. He said there was a connection with the trees, but she didn't quite understand what that meant and that annoyed her. Sansa had made it a point to understand almost everything she could since she'd had her brutal education at the hands of Cersei Lannister and Petyr Baelish. She would never be a fighter, but her brain and her tongue could be a weapon.

While she had expected to find Bran there, she had not expected to see Ser Jaime. She felt her heart speed up, wondering if this way his betrayal; slipping into Winterfell to murder her brother just when they'd given him their tentative trust.

"Why didn't you tell them?" she heard Jaime asked and stopped.

Jaime’s hands were at his side, his blond hair almost gleaming in the winter's weak sun. For a brief moment, she was reminded of all the things she'd longed for when she had been a girl; a golden-haired prince, someone good and kind and true. This man's son, his incestuous son, had destroyed that for her. She wondered briefly if things might have been different had Jaime been around in King’s Landing. She knew that neither Cersei nor Tyrion could control Joff, but perhaps his father might have been able too. Then she dismissed the idea. From what she had seen, the only person even remotely capable of controlling Joffrey had been Lord Tywin. And everyone knew that Ser Jaime was not his father.

She heard Bran say that he still had a role to play, in the upcoming war. Her blood chilled at the next exchange.

"And afterwards?" Jaime asked.

It was a valid question, Sansa thought. Everyone was focused on the upcoming war against the dead, but Sansa knew the real threat, the actual risk were the two Queens that could tear Westeros apart. All she wanted was the North's independence. She wanted what her one brother had been chosen for, and the other had given away.

"What makes you think there will be an afterwards, Ser Jaime?" Bran's voice held no inflection and Jaime sucked in a deep breath and raised his eyes and they crashed into Lady Sansa's.

Her shock matched his own, and she strode further into the godswood to come and stand at his side, before her brother. Bran looked at them and cocked his head.

"You'll keep her safe." It wasn't a question but a statement; almost an order.

Jaime nodded. "I'll keep my vow to your mother."

Bran startled a bit at that and then looked to Jaime.

"My mother. I haven't thought about her in so long."

Sansa sucked in a breath, and Jaime moved fractionally closer to her. He knew what his father had done; what he had ordered. He heard his father's reasons. He'd heard Tyrion speak of it. Tywin had argued that it was no less noble to kill twelve at dinner than ten thousand men on the battlefield, but Jaime knew.

Jaime knew he'd have taken his chances and killed ten thousand rather than violate the ancient Northern custom of guest right. So much of Jaime's identity had been about being a Knight, and there were pieces of that identity that still clung to him, despite everything he'd done to make himself the least worthy person in the Kingdom. And his father had obliterated all of that in his one-act known as the Red Wedding. Gods, Jaime wondered. _How did they not just kill him for his family’s betrayal?_

"Bran," Sansa said after a moment, her composure back. Her brother's eyes swung to hers.

"You can trust him, Sansa."

She let out a frustrated sound, wishing he would speak with her about what he was feeling. But Bran only ever said what he wanted, and nothing could sway him otherwise these days.

"I'll take my leave, and see you at the War Council, Lady Sansa and Lord Bran," Jaime said. Sansa turned to him, and for a moment, their eyes collided. He leaned in. "I'll not let you down, Lady Sansa. I may not be the knight I once was," he said, grinning ruefully and waving his golden hand, "But I promise my mind still knows war, and I'm better than most with a sword."

Sansa swallowed hard and nodded, once, jerkily. "I know, Ser Jaime."

He bowed to them both and strode from the godswood; it was past time he found his little brother and discussed things with him.

Jon and Arya passed Jaime Lannister, leaving the godswood on their way there. Both shared a look; neither could understand why Sansa had given him a second chance, but both knew not to question her. She had proven adept at every move she had made, and if she and Bran were comfortable with Jaime being at Winterfell, then Arya and Jon would keep their silence, for now.

Arya didn't trust either of the Lannister brothers, but ironically, she had a better feeling about Jaime. He was too straightforward, too open and too honest to be good at deception.

When they finally came to the weirwood tree, Bran and Sansa were whispering, too quiet to be overheard, but both Jon and Arya saw a small, exasperated look on Sansa's face and both were reminded of Catelyn Stark at that moment. Her children had driven her mad some days, and Sansa looked just like her mother, if not more beautiful.

It was that thought that had Jon stop, dead in his tracks. He stood there and stared at his sister. No, his cousin. His cousin. His brain still hadn't processed everything that Sam had told him about who he was - his true identity. And now he was confronted with the very real fact that thoughts about Sansa's beauty weren't entirely uncalled for anymore.

He still remembered the moment she'd come through the gates at Castle Black; when she'd seemed like nothing more than a dream, a hope. She'd been cold and half-frozen; scared and scarred and running for her life. And she'd thrown herself into his arms as if he could keep her safe. She didn’t know that she had given something back to him that day; he’d felt disconnected from the world since his death and resurrection, but Sansa had made him feel again.

They had never been close growing up, but at that moment, Jon had vowed to do whatever it took to ensure no one ever hurt her again. When they'd shared a meal, and she'd pleaded for his forgiveness, it was the most natural thing in the world to give her.

And when he'd not listened to her, and almost died at the Battle of the Bastards, he still didn't have words to express what it meant that she had saved him; saved them with the Knights of the Vale. The fury he felt at her husband, at what he had done to her in their home still threatened to make him sick if he ever allowed himself to linger on those thoughts. He could still see the hurt in her eyes when he'd said he needed to go south when she'd pleaded for him to stay. And he hadn't missed the utter betrayal in those same eyes when he'd ridden back through Winterfell, a new Queen by his side. His shame deepened when he thought about lying with Daenerys, even though Sansa had told him to play the game; to do whatever it took.

He had, and he did. Sansa was his sister, for fuck sakes, his brain had screamed at him, again and again. If he could save her, he could give her Winterfell. It was the least of what he owed her, even knowing she would never understand his actions and never forgive him. He'd all but begged Sansa his first night home for her to trust him, and he thought that perhaps she understood his actions. She could never be his, and he’d justified his actions with Dany knowing that truth.

When Sam had told him that Dany was his aunt, he thought he might be sick. He'd denied his feelings for Sansa because of who she was to him and had ended up sleeping with his aunt instead. He thought it was perhaps the cruellest irony in his entire fucking life. He'd slept with a woman he hadn't loved to gain her armies and her dragons, betraying the one he did love because he couldn't have her.

And now he found out he wasn't a bastard; he wasn't her brother. He wasn't who they had said he was his entire life. He had a name that would be worthy of her, worthy of a Stark princess, worthy of the Queen in the North. He was heir to the Iron Throne, and it felt like ashes in his mouth because of his betrayal to her and their people. More than sleeping with Dany, he knew that bending the knee was what had truly angered and disappointed Sansa.

He didn't miss the way men looked at her; the way lords looked at her. Until yesterday, he'd resigned himself to the fact that she deserved someone like that. When Jaime Lannister had ridden through the gates, he half wondered if the man was seeking a bride and the jealousy, even though Jon knew he had no right to it, ate at him. Jaime Lannister was everything Sansa had ever wanted in a husband, and they both knew, that she would have to remarry one day.

Jon was lost in his thoughts when he realized he was standing before his cousins, and they were looking at him with concerned and loving looks. He felt sick. They were the only family he'd ever known and now they would apart from him. He looked to Bran and nodded and then glanced away, unable to bear what he might see when they learned the truth. Bran delivered it in that eerie voice of his.

"Bullshit," came Arya's angry cry, and Jon let a wry little grin split his face. He turned back and saw her face and her denial. Then she shook her head and pinned him with a look. "I don't fucking care. You've Stark blood. That's enough."

He felt a small weight lift from his chest. Then, because he could deny himself no longer, he looked to Sansa. She looked stunned.

"You're the heir to the Iron Throne."

He grimaced. Trust his brilliant cousin to cut straight to the heart of the matter. She swallowed hard, and a look of fear crossed her face. "Does she know?"

He shook his head. "Sam only told me last night. After she had confronted him, to thank him for saving Ser Mormont." Jon paused. "She burned his family." He had no idea why he blurted it out, only that he'd been repeating niceties to Dany for so long that he had to say what he felt, and these were the only people in the world he trusted. He keeled over and sicked up his meagre breakfast. "She fucking burned them when they refused to kneel. They were already her prisoners, and she killed them.”

Sansa was by his side in an instant, rubbing his back. "Hush. It's alright." He twisted his head and looked in her eyes and saw the understanding dawn.

"You're playing the game," she all but whispered to him, and he gave her the slightest nod. He saw the happiness light her blue eyes.

"She's dangerous, Sansa. So dangerous. But we need her. Her dragons and her armies."

"Shhhh," she soothed, pulling him into her arms. "You're not alone, Jon."

He wanted to cry. To let loose all the terror, the anger, the rage, the fear he felt, but he just clung to her and let her comfort her. "I'm sorry I bent the knee." He felt her shake her head.

When they finally stepped apart, Bran and Arya nodded to him. "We understand Jon."

And funnily enough, he could see they did. He never should have doubted his family and their love for him.

"You are family. I don't care who your parents were."

All three Stark's nodded at Arya's pronouncement. He felt the weight he'd been carrying lift from his shoulders. He wasn't alone, and he wasn't cast out. They loved him still.

"We need her. For now," he said, voice low and almost desperate. He looked to Sansa. "She hates you."

Sansa sighed and nodded.

"You need to be careful not to anger her, Sansa." His voice was intense and pleading, and he saw her sigh and give him a small nod.

Then Jon frowned and looked around as if realizing something.

"Where the fuck is Petyr Baelish?"

He watched as the three of them exchanged knowing looks, then laughed.

"Funny story, brother," Arya said as she started to push Bran out of the godswood, and back to Winterfell. Arya sent her brother, because that was what he was, their brother no matter who his parents were, a grin and then proceed to tell them how Littlefinger met his demise. He looked at them, his family, and he knew that there were dangers were all around. But they were stronger together, and they were Starks. It didn't matter who his father was; only that his mother had been of the North like him. He met Sansa's gaze and saw the complete trust was back and felt the tight ball of dread that had been lodged in his stomach loosen. They might all die when the army of the dead marched on them, but the Stark's had made their peace with one another, and Jon knew that could only make them stronger.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaime had left the Starks in their godswood to talk and plot as he went to find his brother. It was long past time he and Tyrion spoke. He was standing on the steps, surveying the busy inner yard of Winterfell when Jaime approached.

"Little brother," the Kingslayer said, with a slight nod to Tyrion.

Tyrion turned his head and looked at Jaime. He could scarcely believe that he was here. Never would he have imagined that Jaime would leave Cersei; not even for this army of the dead. They had been together for so long, that it was almost impossible to believe he'd come on his own free will. Had his sister sent her army, with Jaime at the head of it, well, that Tyrion had been prepared for. But Jaime Lannister? Alone without Cersei's blessing? Never.

"Jaime."

They were silent for a time, watching men and women scurrying about, doing what they did to get ready for the upcoming war. More and more people streamed into Winterfell by the day, and Jaime couldn't help but think what a mistake that was. They were all just more potential members of the Army of the Dead; most could barely hold a sword. If he were in charge, he'd send them south. Anyone who couldn't fight would be south. But he knew why they didn't; a lioness prowled their borders. Despite his horror at his sister, he couldn't help but respect the fearsome reputation she had built. It almost rivalled their father's, and Lannisters were nothing if not proud.

He'd proven that just yesterday, refusing to back down to the Dragon Queen and her acerbic tongue. He would not apologize for being who he was, and certainly not to someone like her. He looked at Tyrion, wondering how he felt, knowing that if they survived this battle, Cersei awaited them. Then again, Tyrion was a kinslayer. Jaime still felt the anger roil in his stomach when he thought of his father's ignoble end at the hands of a son he had hated; a son that Jaime had freed who had betrayed him. He sighed. Their family was fucked.

"How is your Queen?"

Tyrion looked at Jaime. "She's your Queen as well." His tone was as dry as Dornish sand, and he spoke as if Jaime were stupid.

Jaime shook his head at that. She would never, ever be his Queen; not even if Cersei was dead. Jaime had a chance, years ago to support her brothers for the throne, after he had killed Aerys, and he had declined to back either one of them. He hadn't destroyed his reputation to see another mad Targaryen on the throne. He saw the edge that ran through this Daenerys Targaryen, and he'd heard the stories. No one could convince him that a dragon belonged on the Iron Throne. Not even his little brother.

"She's not." Jaime's tone was hard.

Tyrion tsked and Jaime gave him an incredulous look.

"You know what her father was Tyrion," Jaime said, anger lacing his words. Tywin Lannister had not let any of his children forget just how jealous Aerys was of him and what the man had done to destroy their family.

"She is not her father." Tyrion’s jaw had a stubborn set to it.

Jaime scoffed. "No, she has two fucking dragons. I can't even imagine what Aerys might have done with those beasts. Let alone her." Jaime was serious; the idea of Aerys with two fire breathing dragons was the stuff of nightmares. Jaime’s nightmares. 

Tyrion ground his teeth. He loved his brother but hated being questioned by him. Jaime Lannister, the man with no honour. _Who was he to question him?_ Tyrion thought angrily.

"She is not like that. She wants to break the wheel. Do things differently."

Jaime laughed, loud and obnoxious. "Is that why you have people like Brienne of Tarth guarding a flank? Why Lord Royce and Sandor Clegane are not part of your war councils?" Did he even hear himself? _Break the wheel. What the fuck did that even mean?_ Jaime thought.

Tyrion frowned. He did not have the head for battle and strategy his brother did. Their father had dedicated years of his life to instructing Jaime to become one of the best military minds in the country. His brother's prowess with a sword and on the battlefield was legendary.

"She is unsure of those she does not know. Let her get to know you, Jaime. Let her see what an asset you might be." Tyrion’s voice was almost condescending.

Jaime's eyes narrowed. He hated the tone Tyrion was using on him as if he were an errant child, needing to be shown the correct way, and not a grown man that could think for himself.

"Tell me, brother, how is it your wife can see what I am, but your Queen cannot?"

Jaime took a small sense of satisfaction in seeing Tyrion grimace further. Jaime leaned closer. "I am here to protect Lady Sansa. Not your Queen. And I will kill anyone who stands in my way." He paused. "Anyone."

Tyrion looked into Jaime's flashing green eyes and saw nothing but the truth. He swallowed hard. "She'll kill you, Jaime if she perceives you, or Lady Sansa as a threat."

He nodded. "She might, and then you'd have your answer if your precious Queen is so different from the rest. Whose side are you on little brother?"

Tyrion didn't answer; he couldn't. He'd thrown his lot in with the Dragon Queen. The pin of a hand on his chest proclaimed his allegiance. Jaime shook his head and turned to leave, disgust, love and frustration a war inside him. Nothing was easy these days.

"Be careful, brother," Tyrion called out as Jaime strode away.

Sansa's mind was working through what she had just learned about her … cousin. She understood his anguish, his sense of loss, his shock. It was a startling revelation to all of them. He had always been Ned Stark's bastard; her honourable father's one mistake. It made complete sense now why her father would have protected Jon's mother's identity for all those years. People like Robert and Tywin would have murdered Jon had they known who he was. She hoped that he would start to trust them, now that they knew who he was, and he had unburdened himself to his family. Sansa couldn't imagine what he might have gone through had he not told them this secret, how isolated and alone he might have felt. Jon was prone to brooding at the best of times; at least now they knew why.

The other big revelation was that he was using Dany for her armies and her dragons. She knew he was trying to play the game; even if his execution was clumsy and poorly done.

The problem she was having, was that Jon was only focussed on the Night King and his army, and not on the more significant threat; what came after they won. He could only see what was right in front of him, and it was infuriating.

While Sansa was no military commander, she knew that the more significant threat to them, to the North, were Dany herself and Cersei. Neither would consent, she was sure, to allow the North to retain its independence, which was what Sansa wanted. It was what they had. Jon had gone south as a King and come back as … nothing. The silver-haired Queen's bed partner? It wasn't even like he'd secured marriage for himself, not that Sansa wanted that. But to bend the knee for…. What? Her armies? Dragons? Didn't he understand what she had been through to take back their home? She was the one who had to push him, to urge him, to beg him to fight for Winterfell, and he'd given away something that was not his to give. 

She knew now that she was the one they should have named Queen in the North. She was the trueborn Stark, not Jon. She loved her cousin; she did. But he could not play the Game of Thrones; not like her. More than one Northern Lord and the Knights of the Vale had told her this. Combined with whatever army was left at Riverrun, Sansa herself could command three of the seven kingdoms. Not that she wanted anything to do with the Iron Throne. She would never leave the North again, this much she was sure of. Winterfell was her home, and she would not be forced from it. Not even for a foreign Queen with two giant lizards at her beck and call.

Now she feared for everything and everyone she loved.

She knew that Daenerys hated her. She didn't much care for the entitled woman herself. She hated her and didn't trust her if Sansa was honest with herself. Sansa wasn't stupid; to openly defy her would mean certain death. But she wanted her gone. Away from the North. Away from Jon. Sansa wanted the dragons dead. No single person should have that much power.

She should have known at the moment Jon rode his dragon that he had Targaryen blood. Did that mean the dragon was now his or did the Queen still retain power over both beasts? She needed to ask- he had ridden a dragon so he might know. It would be a huge advantage if they only had to kill one beast and not two.

Sansa was lost in her head when she bumped into Jaime who had a cross look on his face. She glanced around and saw his brother standing on the far steps, glaring at him.

"Lady Sansa, my apologies," Jaime blurted out, holding onto her arm to prevent her from falling on the slick surface. The weather was miserable; drizzling wet rainy snow and surfaces iced over fast.

She felt the warmth of his hand on her arm and straightened, meeting his gaze.

"No apology needed, Ser Jaime."

He nodded and stepped back a fraction of a step, but still, they were close. She glanced back at Tyrion and gave him a grim smile. "Family meeting?"

Jaime barked out a short laugh. "He's acting like a fool, your husband."

He saw her face close down and immediately cursed himself.

"I'm sorry. That was poorly done of me."

Sansa shook her head. "He's not. My husband, I mean. Annulment."

Jaime arched an eyebrow at that and wondered at the odd feeling those seven words elicited and the strange things he felt knowing that her and Tyrion's marriage had been struck from the books.

She sighed.

"He never hurt me, but there was no love there and it was never consummated."

Jaime cocked his head. "Do you still believe marriage needs love, Lady Sansa?" Jaime had no idea where or why his brain decided to ask such a personal question. He held up a hand. "Forgive me again. I'm upset and not at my best. You owe me no answers." He gave her a slight bow. "I will see you at the War Council, My Lady."

She said nothing; her blue eyes just locked on his. "Wait." It was softly said, but no less a command. She stepped closer to him, liking how tall he was. So many men she had to look down to. But not Jaime Lannister. "I'm not sure why a man, who should have been married years ago, with a castle such as Casterly Rock waiting for him, wants to know, but my answer is no. A marriage does not need love. Too many men have beaten, raped and manipulated that silly girlish ideal out of me. Your son and your father included Ser Jaime."

He stiffened his spine and nodded. He was an idiot, bringing up her marriage when he thought of what they had put her through. She had been through hell, mostly at the hands of his family, and now he asked her about love. He truly was an idiot.

He had never wanted Casterly Rock, mostly because he knew the moment he consented to take it, his obsession with his sister would have to end. He'd broken his father's heart for years by being unwilling to fulfill his duties as his heir. Who the fuck was he to ask her a single question about marriage and love? It was a foolish notion and one he hadn't believed in since he'd been a boy and thought that Knights had honour. Serving King Aerys had shown him the error of his thinking.

"Again, my apologies. It seems like that is all I am doing, My Lady, apologizing to you." He gave her one of his iconic, self-deprecating smiles. "Are you sure you want me at your War Council?" He wiggled an eyebrow, and Sansa felt a bolt of …. Something shoot through her body. It was unnerving but not unpleasant. She wanted to dig deeper, push more, but she knew that wouldn't be wise. Not when Jaime was capable of making her feel things she thought Ramsay had destroyed. So, she changed topics.

She let a small but fierce smile loose on her face. "Tell me, Ser Jaime. How much time did Lord Tywin spend, teaching you about war? Or am I to believe that the Great Lion raised his son to simply count the Lannister gold in his Castle on the Sunset Sea?"

He threw his head back, laughing, and all eyes focused on them.

They were standing impossibly close, and his laugh, her hair, their beauty was like a beacon in a dim and foggy day. They were a beautiful, regal, elegant couple and they appeared like two figures from the poems and songs children loved; like the true Lord and Lady of the Castle. And not a single person could deny their power: the golden lion and the beautiful northern princess.

Jon Snow saw.

Tyrion Lannister saw.

Sandor Clegane saw.

Brienne of Tarth saw.

And so, did Daenerys Targaryen.

Jaime leaned in, bringing them even closer if that were possible so that Sansa could feel his warm breath against her face. He dropped his voice so only she could hear him.

"No, My Lady, my father was solely dedicated to ensuring I was completely capable of being the Lord of Casterly Rock, and the protector of the Westerlands." Jaime felt something course through his body when he spoke of his birthright, as if he needed to prove he might be worthy of someone like Sansa.

Sansa liked seeing Jaime like this. He seemed younger and more carefree. He was undoubtedly less angry than when he had first bumped into her. And he had an intensity when he focused on just her that made her feel… warm. It was like baiting the lion on his family's sigil. She knew he was dangerous, but she couldn't help but play with him. He leaned in closer, and his breath puffed out in a cloud in the cold space between them. She thought he smelled faintly of sandalwood as he brushed his lips against her ear, so his words were for her ears only.

"They are children, Sansa, playing at war. I'm an arrogant man, and even I know I am the best man to lead this campaign." Jaime drew back then, realizing he'd spoken her name without a title and saw her heart fluttering faster in her elegant neck. She was stunning, and he longed to lean in again, to catch the faint smell of lavender and lemons.

Then he let his eyes wander the yard and saw the stares, especially the penetrating ones by the Queen and her ex-lover, Sansa's brother Jon Snow. Jaime couldn't help himself. He leaned in again, daring them to act. "I am pledged to you, My Lady, and make no mistake, I will do whatever it takes to ensure you survive the Long Night even if you do not believe in love and marriage and silly tales any longer. The North will be yours, Lady Sansa. This is my vow to you."

She sucked in a breath at his proximity. The only men whom she had allowed to be this close to her were Lord Royce, Bran and Jon. She thought she should feel scared with Jaime almost touching her, invading her space, but she felt an odd exhilaration hum through her blood. She met his eyes, their faces so close now, that they almost breathed into each other's space.

"I'll keep you to your vow, Ser Jaime. And see you at the War Council."

His cat green eyes danced, and he stepped back. "My father was right; you are the key to everything."

With that cryptic statement, he spun and stalked out of the yard, needing to put distance and space between him and the very alluring and beautiful Sansa Stark.

He couldn't, for the life of him, remember a single time when a woman had intrigued him as she did. Not even Cersei. They had just always been assumed his twin and him. But there were no guarantees with a woman like Sansa, and he knew that was half the game and all of the challenge, which was madness considering why he'd come here and that he would most likely die when this Night King and his army finally showed up. Still, she was more than he'd ever thought he'd find in this bitter and cold land and she heated his blood in a way a woman never had before. Which meant he was entirely fucked.

Sansa knew all eyes had been on them. For once, she didn't care. What could anyone say? They'd had a conversation, in the open, and nothing improper had happened. Then she stopped at that thought. Improper? Gods, what that man did to her. She never thought the day would come when she'd even entertain the idea of a man and inappropriate thoughts again. Despite her abuse at the hands of her husband, for the most part, Sansa was still quite innocent. And she had all but convinced herself that Ramsay had broken her beyond repair. Jaime Lannister was proving, within a day of being in her home, that perhaps he had not.

She had secured a vow from Jon that she would never be forced to marry again, but Jaime's comment about love and marriage had startled her. Because if she were candid with herself, a small part of her still hoped for that. She didn't believe she would have it, but if she ever had to marry again, she hoped there would be love. Maybe not the explosive, all-consuming love she used to dream about as a girl, but something softer and kinder; perhaps like her parents had. Something that might be built over time.

"Lady Sansa," came Brienne's voice, startling her out of her woolgathering.

"Yes?"

Brienne lowered her voice. "My Lady, I must speak bluntly. What are you doing with Jaime Lannister?"

Sansa's first defence was to say nothing, but that wasn't entirely true. And she was a bit upset that Brienne would even question her on this. Once again, her sworn shield was making no sense. She had vowed that Jaime was a good man, so why did it upset her when they spoke. Sansa took a close look at Brienne and saw… anger in her face. That puzzled her, and she turned that thought over in her head. Why on earth would Brienne be angry that she was speaking with Jaime?

"I believe we are getting to know one another, Lady Brienne."

Brienne's lips pursed. "To what end?"

Sansa arched an eyebrow, and Brienne coloured and looked away. And Sansa knew in that instant why Brienne was angry with her. Brienne was in love with Jaime Lannister.

Sansa lowered her voice.

"Do you have feelings for Ser Jaime, Lady Brienne?"

Brienne coloured and shook her head. "No."

Sansa could all but see the lie. She narrowed her eyes.

"Did you vouch for him because he is a good man? Or because you love him?"

Brienne said nothing and Sansa's ire grew. "Lady Brienne, I am trusting him on your word. If that word is compromised and my safety is at risk…"

Brienne's face was red. "He is a good man. He can be a good man. He's done good things, Lady Sansa. None of that was a lie."

Sansa relaxed marginally. "And your feelings for him?"

Brienne stiffened. "He does not return them." Brienne had known it. She'd all but seen it last night, when Jaime had exited Sansa's chambers, and again this morning at breakfast. He didn't know it, but he didn't even look at his hateful sister the way he did Sansa Stark.

"I'm sorry." Sansa's voice was soft and empathetic, and Brienne felt herself stiffen. People like Jaime Lannister were meant for women like Sansa Stark.

Brienne shook her head. "He is a good man, Lady Sansa. Cersei, she is evil."

Sansa nodded. On that, they could agree, although she would reserve judgement on Jaime until she knew more. She wondered if she and Jaime might ever become close enough that she might question him on his family. They had been the architects of so much hurt towards the Starks, but she'd be a liar to say he didn't intrigue her. And she felt for her sworn shield. It must hurt to be in love with someone who didn't return your feelings.

When Sansa reached the top of the stairs along the battlements, Jon was standing there, glaring at her. Sansa looked around and saw that Daenerys had once again disappeared.

She gave Jon a look. She was still upset with him, and as far as she was concerned, he had days of grovelling to make things up to Sansa. He'd barely even said sorry about bending the knee. Then she frowned. Now that she thought about it, he hadn't even done that. He had just been sick that he'd had to lie to Dany and sleep with her to get her dragons and armies to the North. She shook her head. Such a punishment, the bitter thought floated through her head, to sleep with a beautiful woman. He'd done nothing to earn back her love or trust. And now, he looked mad.

"Yes?" Her voice was biting and cold.

His jaw tightened. "What is going on with you and Jaime Lannister?"

Sansa's eyebrows arched at his tone. She shook her head and narrowed her eyes.

"I'm sorry Sansa for bending the knee. I'm sorry Sansa, for giving up the title of King in the North. I'm sorry for not trusting you, Sansa. I'm sorry for leaving you, Sansa. Alone with Petyr Baelish. I'm sorry Sansa for showing up with an army we cannot feed and two dragons that are eating through your well-thought-out planning." She was all but hissing at him by the time she caught her breath.

Jon looked chagrined and gave her a small smile. "I am, you know." It might have worked in the past, but now, it was strange, comparing his smile to Jaime's. One made her stomach flutter and one did not. And she was not charmed by Jon; not like she had been in the yard by a different man a few moments ago.

She huffed out an aggravated sigh. "Try using words, Jon. And just so you know, nothing. He's sworn himself to protect me. That is all."

"That's not what it looked like."

She looked closer at her cousin. He seemed, put out that she and Jaime had been flirting. _Flirting? Where had that thought come from?_ Sansa thought, almost frantically. She did not flirt. They were not flirting. They were getting to know one another. She wasn't able to flirt with men. She was too broken, too abused, too cold. Too afraid. Except, she thought. She wasn't. Afraid that was. Not with Jaime.

Jon grunted and strode away, but not before telling her that wasn't what it had looked like, giving her a look like he was judging her, which coloured her cheeks and angered her. _Who was he to judge her? He'd fucked his aunt_, Sansa thought angrily.

Sansa moved quickly into her chambers and secured the door, breath heaving out of her chest.

She could lie to them all but not herself. Safe in her chambers, she regulated her breathing and then stood still. She went over the conversation and realized that she had been if not flirting, then not not flirting. She had been intrigued by him, drawn to him. She'd wanted him to stand there for an age; his bright green eyes focused on only her as if no one else mattered. When she was near him, she felt something. More than she did with almost anyone else.

She cursed herself. She didn't have time for this and felt the tears prick her eyes. She had an entire realm of people that were dependent upon her and two Queens that wanted her dead. She still didn't know if she could trust him, and she was a fool even to consider anything more. She’d been burned by men her entire life, and Jaime Lannister was sure to do the same.

"No, sweet sister, don't do that."

Arya too had watched the entire show with Jaime Lannister. She didn't trust the man; she couldn't say she liked him. But for the first time, she had seen the old Sansa. The woman who wanted a handsome man to love her. The woman who wasn’t afraid of a handsome man flirting with her.

Sansa spun as Arya walked out of the shadows. Her sister, her short, scary little sister cupped her cheek. "He made you smile. And there was a light in your eyes I've not seen since we were children. Don't feel guilty. Just…" Arya paused. "Just, for once, follow your instincts."

Sansa felt the tears come to her eyes, and she dashed them away. They were needed in the meeting. Soon.

"You don't think I'm a traitor?"

Arya shook her head. The men in Sansa's life had done a number on her sister, but she'd forged herself into something new; something stronger and more robust than she ever would have had to been had their father found her a good and decent husband. And even though it was a Lannister that made Sansa smile like that, Arya hated that her sister was questioning it. Who in the fuck was anyone to care anymore about names, titles and marriages? They were on the brink of war, and quite frankly, caught between two Queens that would see the Stark's wiped from the map.

"Sansa. Don't. Be selfish. The world won't end if you flirt with Jaime Lannister."

Sansa gave her sister a watery smile.

Arya shrugged. "He's far too pretty for my tastes."

Sansa hummed. "Yes, I can see how yours run more to well-built men that spend their day in the forge."

Arya's mouth dropped open. "You know?"

Sansa grinned and nodded and saw Arya's smirk. They both laughed.

"Come sister. Let's go meet the War Council." It felt good to talk with her sister about men. They were both adults now, both able to make their own decisions. And it made Sansa feel a little less broken, a little less used and a slight bit more reasonable, as if this is what well-born ladies did — flirted with men that were their social equals.

Because despite what Jaime Lannister was, more than anything, he was one of the most eligible men in the realm; heir to Casterly Rock, Protector of the Westerlands and still as handsome as he'd always been.

Then Sansa shook her head from all that nonsense and refocused on the task in front of her. She had to convince the Dragon Queen to trust the man who'd killed her father to lead their combined armies in the upcoming war


	5. Chapter 5

Sansa and Arya weren't the last to arrive meeting- a quick glance showed that Jaime wasn’t here yet. Gathered in the map room were Dany and her entourage; the women from Naath, her Unsullied Commander, two Dothraki warriors, Lord Varys, Lord Tyrion and Ser Jorah Mormont.

Sansa barely spared the Northern man a glance. Her father had exiled him, and now he was back in the North, and it was an insult to Lord Stark and his memory if you asked Sansa, which no one did. She’d never have let him back on her lands, but the choice wasn’t hers. Just one more issue Sansa had with Jon and Dany.

Sansa had to give Cersei credit; she had never had more than one or two trusted advisors around her; not like this Queen who seemed to need to have an army of people following her. Sansa wondered if she were genuinely incapable of thinking for herself, or if she just enjoyed all that company. It would drive Sansa mad to have that many people in her ear that often. She often sought out solitude at the end of each day, just so she could be alone with her thoughts.

Jon was whispering with his friend Lord Tarly trying to keep his attention on him, although Sam kept shooting Dany fearful looks. Who could blame him? Sansa thought. If she had learned this woman's dragons had burned her family, she'd be afraid of her as well. Bad enough that her grandfather and Uncle had been put to death by Dany’s family years ago. Sansa could hardly imagine what Sam was going through.

Bran was in his usual spot, by the fire. Ser Davos stood by Jon, and a few Northern lords were standing around the table; most had answered the summons to make their way to Winterfell, although some had preferred to remain in their Castles. Sansa knew it was a rebuke for Jon bending the knee.

Sansa's eyes landed on Sandor Clegane, who stood as far back against a wall as possible as if to try to blend in, which was next to impossible. He nodded at them both and Sansa smiled while Arya grimaced and they both saw a slight twitch of his lips.

The sisters turned to each other, smiling as if they had a secret, and Sandor shook his head. He remembered a time, travelling south when they'd sooner cut each other's throats. Now the Stark sisters were thick as thieves and just as dangerous.

Sandor realized that both in their own way had taken what he'd tried to teach them and applied it to themselves. Sansa had learned how to play the game of thrones; to look killers in the eye and not blink. Arya had become an even more proficient killer than him, and no one could tell him she didn't love it like him.

He was proud, in his odd way, that they had survived and that maybe he'd had a small hand in that. There was very little in his life that he could be proud of, except perhaps these two wolves. He knew their paths had been difficult. He'd seen what that cunt Joffrey had done to Sansa in the south, and he'd travelled with Arya enough to know that being a young, noble-born woman alone in Westeros was a dangerous thing. But they'd survived, and now they were here, back in their family home. He shot a glance at the big woman whose eyes were on Lady Sansa. They had made their peace, but she still made him uneasy.

Lord Royce was also there and took his spot beside Sansa, and at the last moment, Ser Jaime slipped in and stood just behind her. Sandor watched as the golden lion stood just a touch too close to her to be proper, and how the Little Bird took a single step back, to close the space. He shook his head at their antics and wondered how long before a marriage between the two of them would be announced. They were fooling no one; especially with their display in the yard earlier today. And wasn't that interesting the way that Lady Brienne's eyes narrowed at the closeness of Sansa and Jaime, Sandor thought. It was clear the large woman had feelings for Jaime Lannister.

"Ser Jaime, I was unaware you had been invited to today's meeting," Dany's voice rang out, cold and authoritative.

"Surely a man with my experience is needed, Your Grace," he said, a smile that didn't reach his eyes, gracing his face. Sansa felt her heart thump.

"Ser Jaime is here at my request, along with Ser Clegane and Lord Royce," Sansa's voice rang out, and Jon all but shuddered at the attention she was drawing to herself. He could see the waves of anger radiating off his aunt.

"I was unaware that you had such authority, Lady Sansa."

Sansa met her cold, purple eyes. "It is a war council at Winterfell, is it not, Your Grace? Surely a man of Jaime Lannister's reputation and skills are needed? And last I checked, I was still Lady Stark.”

Dany stiffened. "The Unsullied are undefeated in battle, Lady Sansa. They are the greatest warriors we have."

Tension thrummed through the air.

"In Essos."

All heads turned to Arya. Dany glared at Jon’s youngest sister.

"Undefeated in battle, in Essos. We are not in Essos, Your Grace."

Dany's eyes shot to Jon's, and he rubbed his eyes. Were his sisters trying to anger her on purpose? Question every decision she was trying to make? Did they not understand that she had fucking dragons?

"Yes, well, Daenerys, even if it was poorly done, Lady Sansa is not wrong. My brother has spent his entire life leading military campaigns; he's considered one of the finest military minds in all of Westeros." Ahh, there he was, the little brother that would always come to his defence, Jaime thought and tipped his head to Tyrion.

“My father spent years teaching me,” Jaime said and could almost feel Sansa’s approval.

Dany's face soured at the mention of the Great Lion. "The father who betrayed mine."

Jaime all but rolled his eyes at her antics. They had a war to plan, and she wanted to drag up old grievances? He shuffled slightly and then felt a hand, light as a feather stroke his. Sansa. He calmed and coughed. Before he could speak, Sandor stepped forward.

"For fuck sakes, who fucking cares about your dead fucking daddies. That dead fucking cunt doesn't. Are we hear to talk about the war or not?"

Snickers rang through the room and Dany stiffened.

"And you are?"

Fuck, Sandor thought, she'd already perfected that snotty Queenly tone that indicated she was better than everyone else.

"Nobody important. Just a man who wants to fucking live." A nervous laugh rang the room.

"We all want to live. A name," the Queen demanded.

Sandor sighed. "Sandor Clegane."

"You were North with us."

He nodded.

"And who are you pledged to, Ser Clegane?"

He growled. "Not a fucking Ser."

Dany shot a look to Tyrion. He coughed. "Sandor Clegane was King Joffrey's bodyguard. Until the night of the Blackwater when he abandoned his King."

Sandor shot the dwarf a look that said fuck off. Tyrion shrugged.

"So why should I trust a man who betrayed his King?"

Sandor's mouth just about dropped open at her gall.

"He saved me."

All eyes swivelled to Arya.

"And me."

Sansa.

The silver-haired woman stiffened. "Another man loyal to the Starks. It seems to North is positively crawling with them."

Varys snickered, and Dany shot him a look. "It's the North, Your Grace. The Starks have been here for thousands of years. Long before the Lannister's or the Targaryen's. It is said the blood of the First Men runs in their veins."

Dany's entire body stiffened at that piece of information.

"As much as I hate to admit it, The Hound it right. We are here to talk about war," Tyrion said, a weariness to his voice that Jaime couldn't recall hearing before.

Jaime shot a grateful look at the big man, who nodded and stepped back. Then Jaime did the unexpected. He stepped forward to stand beside Sansa, at the map. Jaime let his hand rest beside hers, underneath the table, skimming his fingers across hers. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, her slight intake of breath. Those around him droned on about where to place the Unsullied and Dothraki while he touched her.

Finally, when he could stand it no more, he barked out a short, harsh laugh.

"We're in a fucking castle," he said as if it were obvious. All eyes looked at him, until Lord Royce, muttered, "Finally, some common sense."

All eyes were on him, and they looked baffled. Surely that couldn't be, Jaime thought. They had to know how to defend a Castle? He looked at them, incredulous.

"Explain, Ser Jaime," Dany bit out; angry her people had been interrupted.

Jaime looked at Lord Royce, Ser Davos, Ser Mormont and Sandor Clegane. Fuck, even Jon Snow should know this.

"We're in a Castle. Castles have walls. That is your best defence."

He saw the Dragon Queen frown and open her mouth.

"This isn't a regular army. They want one thing- to kill us all. They will come, no matter what. They aren't smart; they don't think. They won't outmaneuver us. They will drive hard and fast once they know where we are. Our best defence is a perimeter around the Castle, and everyone else inside the walls to fight. We can hold them off easier if we are all behind Winterfell's walls." They were that inexperienced it was almost comical.

"The Dothraki are the best horsemen in the world," she started to say, and Jaime laughed.

"It doesn't fucking matter. You wouldn't win if you had ten Khalisars, which you don't. Draw them in and have the Dothraki run them through from the side. A flanking maneuver. That's as much as they are good for. The rest, everyone else, beyond a single defensive perimeter should be inside the Castle."

He could see the wheels turning in all their eyes. He pushed on, feeling the brush of Sansa's hand against his as if to say she was proud of him and to continue speaking.

"Fire. That's what we need. We need to burn them and those that fall. And keep as many of our men behind stone walls as we can, for as long as possible."

"They have a dragon, Ser Jaime."

"We have two."

"They are my children," Dany said, voice heated.

Jaime shrugged. "They are either here to fight the army of the dead, or they are not. That is up to you, Your Grace." He stepped back, and Sansa could see the men around the table, debating what Jaime had said.

Initially, they were going to send men out into the field to fight, one on one. But what he said made sense. She felt his fingers brush hers again, and warm flutter went through her. She took a chance and squeezed two of his fingers, and he returned the gesture, and she lost track of what was being discussed. It felt scandalous. And she loved it.

Eventually, the meeting broke up. Word had come that the Wall had fallen, but the army was moving at a reasonable pace, which meant at least a month to Winterfell. There would be more war councils; endless ones, Sansa was sure. But somehow, with Jaime there, they might not be quite so dull.

As she was leaving, Sandor leaned down. "Subtle, little bird." She shot him a look and blushed.

"What?"

He barked out a harsh laugh. He liked seeing her like this; she was different than before but in a good way. He shot a look to Ser Jaime who had moved to speak with Brienne.

"Seven hells," she muttered and glanced around.

"No one else saw. Just me," Sandor said, teasing her lightly.

"And I suppose you disapprove?"

His one eyebrow winged up at that comment. "No."

She looked at him and saw the truth and let out a relieved breath.

"Still, be careful." He nodded towards her cousin, who was glaring at them, and the Dragon Queen who hadn't quite recovered from her entire war strategy being destroyed by Jaime. Sansa let her eyes wander to him then, and even from across the room, talking with someone else, he angled his body to the point where he could make eye contact with her.

Sansa gave the slightest nod and then left the room. These people might be able to spend endless days planning for war, but she had people to feed and clothe and no one else to help share the work. Jaime Lannister was a distraction she didn't need.


	6. Chapter 6

Five days later, Dany cornered Sansa in the library, speaking with Lord Royce and requested a private meeting with her. Dany had watched since Ser Jaime had arrived, and she had seen how the men in the North fairly stumbled over themselves to be there for Sansa Stark. Jon had never mentioned how pretty his sister was or how close they truly were. She watched as her lover, who was avoiding her bed now that they were in his home, deferred to his pretty sister, time and again.

Dany watched as men like Lord Royce and Sandor Clegane and now this Jaime Lannister all scurried to do Lady Stark's bidding. She had them wrapped around her finger, and Dany didn't like it at all.

Jon had told her about her two marriages, and Dany had hoped that they might bond over the experience. Both had been forced to marry against their will. In her case, she had come to love her husband. She still felt the pang of his death, and when she was in a particularly reflective mood, she wondered if he had never died if they would have stayed Essos, happy and in love. Then she shook herself from such thoughts. That was the past, and she couldn't look back.

The problem, as Dany could see it, was Sansa Stark. Sansa had not pledged herself to Dany, and if she did not bend the knee, then Dany was more than prepared to force her compliance. She would not have enemies at her back, and she was fast losing trust in Tyrion. Either Sansa would pledge herself to her, or Dany would make her pay.

Sansa had kept herself busy and occupied and had spied Jaime sparing in the yard more than once, but there had been no more secret brushes of fingers or inappropriate flirting in the main yard for everyone to see. No, she had kept her distance. And instead, she dreamed of him each night. Looked at him each day in the Great Hall when they broke their fasts. Watched as her cousin scowled at the Kingslayer, unable to deny that he was needed here.

In short, Sansa has tried to push Jaime Lannister as far from her mind as possible because she still didn't trust him, and she knew, logically, what his family had done to hers. Despite what Arya might say, there was no future there. He loved his sister still, and most likely always would. Tyrion reminded her of that just the other day. He'd come here to protect her from this Night King and his army but made no promises about afterwards. His sister, the one he loved and slept with, still sat on the Iron Throne, and Sansa had no allusions as to where his loyalty would lie afterwards. And it was not with her.

She still remembered the almost pity in Tyrion's eyes, as if she were some besotted girl. "He's loved her his entire life, Lady Sansa."

She hadn't even responded, just turned and walked away, reminded once again that the stories she believed in as a child were just that- stories. The world was harsh and cruel, and she had no time for romance, especially towards a man whose heart was already spoken for. Her desire for love was silly in the face of the threat that faced them.

Now Sansa sat and watched as Dany tried to convince her that she loved her brother; that she was only here for Jon's war, that she would be gone south soon enough. A part of Sansa hoped that she never found out that Jon had used her, for her rage would be unmatched at that moment. She believed that the silver-haired Queen loved her cousin, just like she knew her cousin did not return her feelings.

During the discussion, Sansa had nodded, and played the game, until she asked what happened after the war with Cersei.

"I don't understand." Dany's eyebrows frowned and had drawn closer together.

"The North wants its independence, Your Grace. That's what being crowned King in the North meant. For Jon. What he gave up. What you asked of him."

Dany snatched her hand away so fast, Sansa would have thought she'd held it to an open flame. Her purple eyes lit with anger at Sansa's request.

"I thought we understood each other," Dany said, anger in her eyes.

Sansa stood, all but dismissing her. "I believe we do. Now." She would not cower before her. She'd done that too often in this life to give her that power over her.

The little silver-haired Queen spun and strode out of the room, leaving Sansa alone. Or so she had thought.

"You can come out now, Ser Jaime," Sansa said, amused exasperation in her tone.

He emerged from behind a bookshelf and gave her that grin that she realized she had missed.

"Lurking?"

"Keeping you safe," he said, shrugging. He cocked a hip and sat on the table, bypassing the seat where Daenerys had sat. "She's dangerous, and you know it."

Sansa sighed. She did know it- they both did. There hadn't been another War Council meeting. Sansa half thought her, Jaime and Sandor would be banned when the next one was called. Daenerys Targaryen did not like to be questioned.

After the last meeting, Jon had been angry at her and Arya, admonishing them for taunting her. Sansa had bit her lip so hard she'd tasted blood. She knew that he was scared, but it angered her to see him placate her; bow to her, simper and preen in front of her. They were fighting a war; what type of Queen didn't take the advice from the best people she had at her disposal? And what did that say for how she planned to rule? She had such anger at Jon and Tyrion for supporting such a ruler it was barely contained most days.

Sansa shot Jaime a look; he was doing it again. Focusing his entire self on her, only this time, they were alone. There were no prying eyes, no one to stop them. "Have you spoken with Tyrion?"

Jaime sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. "He insists she is different. I insist she is not." Sansa saw a wealth of knowledge in Jaime's eyes and was once again reminded of this man's history with the Dragon Queen's family.

"What was her father like?" The question was out before Sansa could take it back, and she watched as Jaime stiffened before he shot her a cocky grin, a mask of indifference on his face. 

She hated that. She liked it when he was honest with her.

"Digging around to see if I truly am the bastard everyone says." He leaned into her, his face closed off and almost hard. "Kingslayer," He whispered the word virtually like a caress on his lips. Except his eyes looked wounded and he seemed to be mocking her, waiting for her to rear back in horror and judgement. He was waiting for her to be outraged and disgusted at him like everyone was. He'd heard it his entire life, but somehow, knowing that Sansa thought the same of him, hurt. More than any other.

She turned to leave when he reached out and grabbed her. She still and turned back to him, her mouth set in a grim little line.

"I'm not after gossip. And I don't want to be mocked." He saw the truth in Sansa's face.

He swallowed hard and nodded. 

"Do you want the truth, Sansa?" 

Jaime could hardly believe he was offering this to her. He'd told so few people in his life, but there was something about this woman. He'd missed her, these past few days, watching her from a distance.

"Do you want me to have the truth, Jaime?"

He liked how she said his name. He liked that she no longer put a Ser in front of it, and he no longer called her My Lady. They were Jaime and Sansa. He thought about her question. 

Did he want her to have the truth? 

Sometimes it was easier when everyone thought he was what her father claimed he was- a man without honour. If Sansa knew the truth, then like Brienne, she'd expect things from him. Expect him to be good, because he had proven he could be good. He'd also shown he could make the same mistakes, over and over again. But the thought of dying without her knowing that he wasn't quite the bastard everyone thought was too powerful to deny.

He nodded.

"Not here."

"My solar."

He stood and keeping his hand in hers, wondering when she might protest at the familiarity and happy when she did not, took her through the halls of Winterfell to her rooms.

Once there, she closed the door and locked it. There was a fire going, and food and wine on the small table, where he saw a variety of parchment and quills. She guided him to a chair, where he finally released her hand and he sunk into it, letting the fire warm him. She poured him wine, plated him food and served him. Like a wife would do, and he startled at that thought. He wondered what her life might have been like if a good man had been her husband. She would make a wonderful wife to some lucky man.

When Sansa had her meal and drink and had taken her seat, he took a fortifying sip. 

Jaime had told one other person this story, but then he'd been a mass of pain and suffering. Tonight, it felt softer, as if he was sharing because he chose to, not because his soul was screaming for it to be unburdened. And he wanted Sansa to know he'd done this one good thing in his life. It was an overwhelming desire that he didn't want to examine too carefully.

"He liked to burn people near the end. I don't think he started that way; mad. But it grew on him as it seems to with most of the Targaryens. He was jealous of my father. Tywin Lannister was a hard man; stern and unyielding and yet he produced results. He was the best hand this Kingdom had seen in years, and yet the more success my father had, the angrier and more jealous Aerys grew." Jaime paused. "I heard rumours of course, that Aerys had threatened my father with First Rights on the night of their wedding. To a man like my father, who loved his wife, it was an unforgivable insult."

Sansa sat very still, watching Jaime. Jaime's eyes met hers. He'd heard his son had threatened the same thing with her on her marriage to Tyrion. She held his gaze. There was so much hurt between them. But she reminded herself that Jaime was not Joffrey, or Cersei or even Tywin. He was a man capable of great violence; his skill with his sword hand had been unmatched. But he'd never been a man that hit or beat women, who raped women, who forced himself on those weaker than him. Sansa had to wonder how growing up with a family such as he had shaped him.

Tonight, before her, she saw a beautiful man, lost in painful memories as he talked about his joy at being made a Kingsguard at such a young age, only to realize Aerys had done it to deny his father his heir and not because he'd believed in Jaime or saw something in him. He reminded her so much of herself with silly youthful dreams that had been crushed.

"I was seventeen when John and Robert and your father rose up in Rebellion. I had been left alone with the King, who was raging." Jaime's eyes met Sansa's then and held them. "He'd placed caches of wildfire throughout flea bottom. He'd been yelling to burn them all; in their homes, in their beds- women, children, men. Everyone. He wanted King’s Landing to be ashes. I knew my father had marched on the Capital; twelve thousand Lannister forces had come to Aerys' gate. He thought my father was there to come to his aid and ordered me to bring him my father's head."

Sansa shuddered at the scene he painted.

"I don't think he meant to die when he lit the wildfire; he thought he was a dragon, to be reborn, you see. But when he ordered his pyromancer to light the city on fire, I killed him, before I stabbed the King in the back."

Sansa gasped at the implications. "You are a hero Jaime." She knew how many people lived in King’s Landing. Innocent people.

His grimaced. "Your father didn't think so. He found us, the King dead with his blood on my sword. Kingslayer, oathbreaker. A man without honour. There was nothing I could say to the honourable Ned Stark to convince him why I had done what I did. So, I said nothing."

Sansa felt her stomach roil in horror.

Jaime shrugged. "Everyone believed him. After all, my father turned on Aerys, sacking the city, and it was convenient that I was the one to put the King to death."

"Jaime," she whispered, brokenly, and he met her eyes. He saw her heartbreak and horror there and felt something jolt inside his chest.

"Sansa, it's not on you. Your father, my father… our houses have a complicated history." His tone had gentled as he tried to shift the burden of the awful name he'd been given from her father's shoulders to his own. She could see him doing it.

"No. It was wrong. He should have spoken with you, Jaime. He should have given you a chance to explain. If he had…"

Jaime barked out a harsh laugh. "If he had, nothing would have changed. Cersei convinced Robert I had to be the captain of his Kingsguard and sealed our fates." He sighed and leaned back. "Many men went to war against the King, Lady Sansa, but only one drove a sword into his back. Only one is a true Kingslayer."

Sansa shook her head. "And now his daughter is here, with two dragons," she all but whispered, and Jaime nodded.

"Does Tyrion know?"

Jaime shook his head. "Only Brienne. When we were captured."

Sansa's face frowned.

"What?"

She sighed.

"What?" His voice was more demanding.

She gave him a look. "She has feelings for you."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, drinking deeply from his goblet of wine.

"Do you…" Sansa's voice trailed off. She paused. "Do you have feelings for her? Like the ones she has for you."

"No. Not like that."

He could have sworn he saw a look of relief come into her eyes. He knew he should back off. They were both emotionally vulnerable right now, especially given what he'd just shared. But he'd always been the stupidest Lannister. And this woman made him feel in a way he never had before. He leaned forward and traced a finger over one of her clasped hands. "I've only felt that way about two women, Sansa."

Her eyes flashed up to his, blue clashing with green and her mouth popped into a perfect O. He was just about to push for more when there was a pounding on the door.

"Sansa," Jon's low, Northern voice came from the other side, anger and exasperation in her name.

She stood hastily and smoothed down her dress and then moved quickly to open her door. When Jon stepped in, he took in the scene before him, his frown deepening. He looked to the Golden Lion lounged in a chair, drinking and eating with his cousin, with no thoughts to decorum or propriety being upheld. Jon seethed.

"She is a lady," he ground out.

Jaime's eyebrows raised. "She is. And the woman I'm sworn to protect."

Jon stalked over to the Kingslayer and hauled him out of his chair. "You're not the only sword that has sworn an oath to her." Jon risked a look at Jaime's hand with disdain. "You're not even the best one."

Jaime straightened to his full height; panther-like in his grace. He towered over the dark-haired man. "And where will you be, Jon Snow, when the army of the dead marches on your castle? On a dragon? Beside your Queen? Because I am planning on being by her side," Jaime said, gesturing to Sansa who was watching open-mouthed at the display before her.

"I'll do whatever I have to, to end this war."

Jaime nodded. "You will. And I respect that. But while you are doing that, she is vulnerable. And her safety is my job, Jon Snow."

Jon's breath was short and shallow through his nostrils as he tried to calm his temper. Jaime leaned in and whispered, "Your Dragon Queen has already taken a bite out of her today. Do not give her any more reason to be angry with you."

"I don't know what you are talking about. She's my family."

Jaime laughed and whispered in Jon's ear. "I've seen that look, Jon, on my own face. It's the look of a man in love with a woman that he can't have. The look of a man who loves his sister. Remember who you are talking to."

"I'm not you," Jon seethed back. 

Jaime grinned. "No. You're not. Because I can have her, and you can't. And not just because she's your sister, but because the moment, _the moment_ Daenerys Targaryen knows you love her, she'll kill her."

Jon reeled back. "You think you're good enough for her?"

Jaime shook his head. "I know I am not."

Jon and Jaime's eyes held on another.

Then Jon sighed, resigned to what he saw in Jaime's eyes. It had been the most foolish of dreams, to think that they might somehow survive the Long Night, Cersei, and Dany and that he might now have a chance to marry his cousin. To come home and live in the North. To be happy. Free. To have a family. That was not his path, and he could see that now, no matter what he felt for her.

"The Queen wants to see you. Both of you." His voice was weary and resigned.

Jaime and Sansa exchanged glances, wondering what it could be about. Neither one of them had spoken with her, other than the short conversation Sansa had with her today. Jon looked ill as if he knew something terrible was about to happen.

The three of them went to the Great Hall, where Dany sat, her advisors on one side, and the Northern Lords filling the Hall. Tyrion wouldn't even look at them. Bran, Arya, Royce, Sandor and Brienne were also present, along with Sam and Ser Davos.

Sansa and Jaime were brought to stand before her, and Sansa couldn't help but think of this same scene a week ago when they had spared Jaime's life. It was hard to imagine how much he had come to mean to her in seven short days.

"It has been brought to my attention that the best way to ensure loyalty and the security of the realm, is through marriage."

Sansa stiffened, and she felt her stomach drop. She shot a look at Jon, who was busy avoiding her eyes and looking utterly miserable. He had promised, her brain screamed. She felt Jaime's hand brush her fingers and tried to calm her breathing. Surely, she wouldn't. Why now, on the eve of battle?

"Jaime Lannister, you are the heir to Casterly Rock. With you, comes the entire Westerlands. Lady Sansa, you are the true born daughter of Ned Stark and the Lady of Winterfell. A marriage between you, two powerful houses that have pledged themselves to my cause, will go a long way in securing my reign and place in Westeros."

Jaime reached down and clutched Sansa’s hand, feeling her grip it back.


	7. Chapter 7

Silence. Deafening silence met Daenerys Stormborn's announcement of their marriage. Jaime's hand was clutching hers, tightly and neither dared say a word. Not yet. And then.

"No." A single word by Jon, who stood and glared at the silver-haired Queen, fists clenched tightly.

"This is utterly absurd. You are not the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms." Sansa sucked in a breath. Lord Royce. A man who had come to her aid stood by her, gave her council, and dare she say it, loved her like a daughter. Of course, he would come to her defence.

"You have no power over who Lady Sansa marries. She is a Stark of Winterfell, and we did not choose you, and we did not bend the knee to you, Dragon Queen.” Lady Mormont. Small but mighty.

Sandor was the next to step up and stand beside her. Jaime all but growled at the Queen. Sansa prayed they weren't all going to be dead from dragon fire.

Dany had stood, eyeing Jon. "You bent the knee. The North belongs to me, which means that who Lady Sansa marries is my decision."

Lyanna Mormont growled a protest and Arya looked ready to slit Dany's throat. Sansa had no idea how to stop what as fast becoming a dangerous situation.

"But he is not a Stark. I am." Bran. Sansa closed her eyes and prayed.

Dany's head whipped around. "What?"

"I am my sister's oldest living trueborn male relative. Therefore, her marriage, or not, is my responsibility. Not Jon's."

Dany seethed. "I am the Queen. He was the King of the North, and he bent the knee. To me."

Bran nodded. "He did. But he is not a Stark."

Sansa risked a look at Jon and saw him breathe a sigh of relief as if that would be the end of it, but one look at her and Sansa knew it would not.

"Either they marry in the Godswood tomorrow night, or my armies and my dragons leave Winterfell."

Sansa saw Jon's face fall, and then turn resigned. He expected her to do it. He expected her to marry again, after what he knew Ramsay had done to her, to keep the Dragon Queen's armies in the North. She felt sick and her knees weak, until Jaime dragged her into his arms, not caring what anyone else thought.

"Shhh, sweetheart. Whatever you want," he was whispering in her ear. He too, was reeling. Marriage had never been his plan; not in his entire life. He vaguely could admit he didn't know what to expect after the battle with the Night King, but somehow, he'd always assumed it would involve Cersei. But if he were married, he'd hardly be able to go South again without her wanting both their heads. Still, his most pressing concern was the woman shaking in his arms. He'd heard what Ramsay had done to her, and how he had abused her. Now, being forced to marry again, to keep her people alive? It was as hideous as Petyr Baelish selling her out to the Bolton's.

"Jaime," she murmured into his chest as he stroked her back.

"Anything, Sansa. I'll do anything for you. Remember my vow."

She pulled back slightly and looked into his eyes and saw the truth. "Do we need her armies?”

He wanted to lie, to tell her no, that they would be fine. But without the Lannister forces, it was a lie. Even with Dany's armies, they barely stood a chance. Without them, everyone would perish. She saw the truth before he even said a word.

"I'll never hurt you," he told her instead, and she nodded, believing him.

"Together then?"

He cupped her cheek, and they turned to face the head table once again.

"We will marry tomorrow night," Sansa said, her voice steady, despite the fear she felt. Outraged protests met that announcement, even though everyone knew why she did it. If Sansa Stark had been beloved before in the North, her willingness to marry Jaime Lannister to save the people of the North became the stuff of legend.

Dany could not understand the anger. Tyrion, Varys and Jorah were glaring at her. It was true she had told no one of her plans for Sansa and Jaime, but she had sat through lecture after lecture from all three of them about the importance of marriage when she arrived in Westeros. Now she had made her first alliance that would benefit her cause. When she rose and left, Varys and Jorah followed her into her chambers, angry looks still on their faces.

"What was that Khaleesi?" Jorah all but barked at her.

She narrowed her eyes, unused to Jorah speaking to her in such a way. "That was me, being a Queen."

"That was you, uniting two of the most powerful houses in the seven kingdoms. Sansa Stark is heir to the Riverlands as well, Your Grace. And her sickly cousin in the Vale… well… you've seen Lord Royce's defence of her."

"What are you saying, Lord Varys?"

He sighed. "If you wanted to punish Sansa Stark, you should have married her to a lesser Northern Lord. It would have neutralized her. Now the North is angry that their princess is marrying a Lannister, and their marriage creates one of the most powerful alliances in the kingdom. And neither one of them has bent the knee to you."

Dany felt anger that she was being questioned until Tyrion stormed in.

"My father always said Sansa Stark was the key to everything." He gave her a mocking bow. "Congratulations, Your Grace. Would you like to hand your kingdom over to them now? Or after the upcoming war?"

"I did what I had to do, to deal with Sansa Stark and the power she has."

"You did what you wanted to do. You did not ask for advice, which we would have given you. This is a disaster. Those that might not have hated you before will now."

Tyrion was in a state. His gut was churning, and he couldn't pinpoint all the emotions. Anger, jealousy, rage, disgust and pure fear that she had fucked them all. Jaime insisted she was as bad as her father and Tyrion had seen her temper. He wanted to believe she was different; better. But she'd proven she wasn't.

He spun back. "This isn't breaking the wheel Daenerys. This arranged marriage is the same shit that people in this country have been dealing with for hundreds of years. Do you think you're the first ruler to force two highborn people to marry? How do you think I ended up married to Sansa Stark in the first place?" He sighed and sunk into a chair.

Dany looked to Jorah, her most loyal companion, but even he looked angered.

"Jorah?"

"Your Grace, you must understand that to the people of Westeros, what just happened… it is an insult to the North. To the Starks."

Dany frowned. "But Jaime Lannister is heir to Casterly Rock. He is her equal."

Jorah huffed and looked to Varys.

"Your Grace, Jaime's son, was the one who ordered Ned Stark's head to be taken. Tywin Lannister ordered the murders of Robb and Catelyn Stark at the Red Wedding. The Lannisters are not loved in the North."

Tyrion let loose a bitter laugh. "My father must be turning over in his grave," he muttered.

"She was defiant. She refused to bend the knee. She is …. Everywhere here. They love her."

"She is a Stark. Of course, they love her in the North." That was Jorah.

"But I am the Queen." Dany's brows drew together in confusion. She did not understand the North's obsession with the Starks, and most certainly with Lady Sansa.

"Your Grace," Varys said, his voice trying to be soothing. "You know how her last marriage came about. There are still those that are sensitive to her being so ill-used."

Dany frowned. Yes, she'd heard that Ramsay Bolton had raped his wife. Unfortunately, this was not uncommon. But everyone could see Jaime Lannister was not that type of man.

"I won't take it back," she said, sticking out her chin, definitely and wondering where Jon was — probably comforting his sister.

"You can't. The dye has been cast," Tyrion said ominously. "But you'd better pray that this doesn't blow up in our faces."

With that gloomy thought, the room descended into silence, each wondering how the marriage of Sansa Stark and Jaime Lannister might impact them in the wars to come.

Tyrion met Varys' gaze, and they both looked worried. This was not the same Queen that they had followed and pledged themselves to in Essos. She was more irrational, angrier and, starting to show the classic signs of Targaryen madness. Both men knew that should they survive the upcoming war there were some serious issues to be taken into consideration moving forward. Jaime and Sansa's being married might change everything, and both men knew it. A King and Queen like them? They brought four of the seven Kingdoms; there were almost no noble lords left from the Reach, and the only known bastard of Robert's was working in the forge at Winterfell and sleeping with the other Stark sister. No should they survive the Long Night, Jaime and Sansa would be the most powerful couple in Westeros and everyone in the room knew it except the Dragon Queen who had set the marriage in motion.

***************************************

"Tomorrow night in the Godswood," were the Queen's last words before she rose and strode from the room, her advisors trailing after her, and Sansa had to hold herself still, so she didn't collapse against Jaime. Once she had left, the hall erupted into outrage, each lord growling louder than the other one. Jaime didn't give a fuck about them, only Sansa.

And he didn't care what anyone thought as he pulled her closer; he was pleased that she seemed willing to take comfort from him. It was all a moot point now; they were betrothed and to be married and him touching her was allowed.

"I'm so sorry." He wished he'd never come to Winterfell. Instead of protecting her, now he was a source for her pain. Even still, he couldn't help but like what she felt like in his arms, and if that didn't make him the biggest bastard in the entire world, he didn't know what did.

Tyrion approached them, tentatively. "Perhaps it is best for all of us. Marriages have been decided like this for years."

Jaime glared at him. "Is this how your Queen breaks the wheel? By forcing people to wed? I seem to recall other rulers doing the same thing." There was no denying it.

Tyrion's face soured. He lowered his voice. "There was no dissuading her. The two of you…" Tyrion trailed off. "You openly defy her. She had to do something." Jaime still hadn't let go of Sansa, and thankfully she hadn't tried to move from his arms. It had been years since he'd felt this level of anger towards his brother and had his hand been free, he most likely would have struck him.

"She is as bad as Cersei and father, make no mistake little brother. And she has two dragons. You choose the wrong Queen." Jaime's eyes left no room for argument, and Tyrion knew it was the truth. He could see he was losing ground and influence with the Dragon Queen daily. And he was afraid.

"I didn't know," he all but pleaded with them and even though they knew it to be the truth, neither one of them were swayed by such an argument.

Sansa turned then and looked at Tyrion. "I used to think you were so smart." Then she turned away from him, all but dismissing him. "Take me back to my rooms, Jaime."

He grasped her hand and did just that and walked into all the Starks already there. He cursed and closed the door, keeping Sansa by his side. He glanced at his soon to be wife and saw her face was chalk white, her eyes impossibly blue against the paleness of her skin.

"I'm sorry."

That was from Jon and Jaime wanted to smash the man's face in.

"Did you know?" Sansa's voice was quiet but powerful in the room.

"No." Everyone could see the anguish on his face.

"Still, you brought her here. And now the price of her armies is my freedom. You promised Jon," she cried out, and he moved to hug her. Sansa slapped him when he came near her, and he reeled back.

"I'm so sorry, Sansa. I had no idea. None." Jon felt the welt from her hand on his cheek but knew it was the least he deserved.

"Give her space, Snow," Jaime all but growled, holding her close again. He couldn't imagine what she was going through.

"I could kill her." Arya.

Jaime's gaze swung to her, wondering what she was going on about when Jon shook his head.

"We still need her armies and her dragons. You think they will stay if she is dead?" Jon looked almost desperate. There was a single moment when Jaime felt for him. He knew as well as Jon that they needed every fighter they could get. But it was hard not to feel the crippling guilt when the price was your sister's forced marriage. Then Jaime's eyes swung back to the youngest Stark sister.

"What does that mean? You could kill her?"

All the Stark's stopped looked at one another. Sansa squeezed his hand and let out a short breath and looked at her family. "He needs to know."

He saw resigned looks from all of them.

"I'm a faceless man," Arya said, and Jaime's mouth dropped open. He looked to Sansa, whose hand he still hadn't let go of, and she nodded. Comprehension dawned on Jaime's handsome face.

"You killed House Frey." He was half impressed and half afraid.

She nodded and met his gaze. "I have another name on my list. And no one will stop me. Not even you, Kingslayer."

Jaime felt his stomach clench. The faceless assassins were legendary. And they never missed their mark. His sister was as good as dead. If Daenerys Targaryen didn't kill her, this Stark woman would. He nodded to her once. Sansa squeezed his hand. This was a huge mess. Arya looked half ready to kill him, and he'd done nothing wrong.

"Arya, enough," Sansa pleaded.

Jaime was reeling. His sister was as good as dead. He was being forced to marry a woman who had been traumatized by his family and her second husband. And his brother was a starting to scare him the way he mimicked back everything the Dragon Queen wanted to hear and couldn't see her for what she was. He'd come North to keep Sansa safe, and now she was in a worse position because of him. He vaguely heard them arguing lowly in the background, Arya and Sansa incensed that Dany would force this on them.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly, and all the Stark's turned to look at him. "I'm sorry. If I hadn't come here…"

Sansa looked at her family. Then she looked at the man who looked like his entire world had just crumbled. He had such guilt on his face. She knew this wasn't his fault. Or hers. And she refused to let him be a martyr.

"Give us the room," she told her family.

"Sansa, are you sure?" That was Jon.

She gave Jon a bitter laugh. "Your Queen is forcing us to marry Jon. Still, think bending the knee was your only option? Funny how I seem to pay for your decisions." It was a cruel blow and intentionally done. She was angry that a marriage was being forced on her again.

And this time it wasn't the choice of husband that was the worst of it. If she were candid with herself, he was arguably the best man she could marry. She knew he wouldn't hurt her or rape her. But it angered her that Jon had made a choice that had brought this woman into their home and now it was her that had to pay. She was angry that she was once again a tool in the game of thrones. She was mad that she was losing her hard-fought freedom.

"That's not fair. I didn't want any of this Sansa," he all but snapped at her.

She knew that. She did. Jon was a good man. But his decisions were going to cost them, and Sansa was afraid of the price. Dany was doing everything possible to take away Sansa's power. She would be wed; she would be a Lannister, again, and she was half expecting to be shipped off to Casterly Rock. And none of that was her or Jaime's fault.

Sansa turned on him. "Don't you see what she is? This isn't breaking the wheel, Jon. This is the wheel. She's not a good ruler. She won't be a good Queen. She's a tyrant."

He jerked back and looked to Arya who only arched an eyebrow at him.

"I had no choice. Just like you. She'll take her armies and leave if you don't go through with it. Or worse."

"Listen to yourself, Jon. She's going to burn us alive if we don't dance to her orders. Please, just…." Sansa was almost desperate. "Please tell me you see her for what she is."

He held her gaze and nodded once, and Sansa slumped in relief. At least he knew what she was, even if he wasn't willing to stand up to her.

Then Jon looked at Jaime, who still held Sansa's hand. He swallowed hard as if he knew what accepting this marriage would cost him. "You'll be good to her?"

Jaime nodded. He would never hurt her, that much he knew unequivocally. And if he were married to her, then no one else would either. Because make no mistake, if it weren't Jaime Lannister standing beside her in the godswood tomorrow night, it would be someone else. And they all knew it. Daenerys Targaryen hated Sansa and would do whatever she could to exert her power over her.

Jaime had no idea, beyond that, what was expected or wanted out of this marriage. He half wondered if they would be sent to the Rock and wondered how Sansa would take that. It was clear she was happy in Winterfell. He'd heard the stories of her abuse at the hands of Ramsay Bolton. He didn't even know if she'd let him touch her. And then there was his fucked-up relationship with Cersei, whom he knew was as good as dead, but didn't stop him from still loving her. He was resigned that a part of him always would. And that was the most unfair thing to the world to the woman standing beside him. He had been honest when he'd told her she was only the second woman he'd ever had these types of feelings for, but was that even enough?

He barely registered that her family had cleared out and left them alone. When it was just him and Sansa, she sat slowly in the chair opposite of him and looked lost in her thoughts.

"I won't hurt you." He had to say that, and he saw a small smile.

"I know." Pause. "I'm sorry. I know you didn't plan on any of this when you came here."

"Neither did you."

She gave him a resigned smile.

"How old are you?" he asked suddenly, and she startled at the change in subject.

"Twenty-two."

He gave her a wry smile. "I'm forty-two Sansa. I'm a one-handed knight with the worst reputation in the seven kingdoms. I have a Castle, which I'm not sure Cersei would even let us get to, a sister that has probably sent someone to kill me, and I've loved one person my entire life. I've done such hateful things for her, Sansa. You deserve so much more than me." Jaime paused and leaned closer, taking one of her hands in his. "Despite all of that, my vow remains the same. I won't hurt you. And I'll do my best to protect you in the upcoming war."

She swallowed hard. "And after? Will you leave me, Jaime?"

He looked at her; still so young despite the hellish life she'd lived. He could even see the hope and expectation in her eyes. And he wondered if this was his one chance at something good in this life. His one chance to break free, once and for all from Cersei. He could stay in the North; be a husband. Maybe one day, a father again to children that would have his name. He could help her rule if they survived. He couldn't look away from her, and he felt the longing rush through him.

"I will not."

He saw her shoulders slump in relief. "Promise?"

He nodded. "I promise, Sansa. I will stay unless you order me to go."

She couldn't imagine the humiliation of having a husband leave her and run back to his sister's bed; even if she was the Queen. Jaime's promises, not to hurt her and not to leave her, went a long way in reassuring her.

"Can I hold you?"

Sansa nodded and stood and then came to sit on Jaime's lap, folding herself into his chest. His strong arms came around her as she tucked her head against the crook of his neck. They sat like this for a time; both lost in their thoughts.

"She's an idiot," Jaime said after a time, and Sansa let out a little snigger of a laugh. He looked down at her, and Sansa was captivated by his face. He wiggled an eyebrow.

"Uniting the West and the North." He shook his head and gave her another small smile.

"I'm glad it's you."

He arched an eyebrow at that.

"And not someone else." Sansa paused. "You're the only man who I feel comfortable with, other than my brothers and Lord Royce."

Jaime felt something warm settle in his chest at her confession. "I'm glad it's you as well." He realized the truth of those words.

Eventually, he felt her start to tire and went to place her in her bed, before leaving to find his chambers.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he nodded before he slipped out into the hallway, wondering how it had all come to be, that after forty-two years he would finally be a married man.


	8. Chapter 8

Sansa slept for a few hours before the nightmares chased her from her rest. She didn't need a Maester to tell her why she had dreamt what she had; clawing hands, pain, and a previous wedding in the godswood featuring her husband's face instead of Jaime's. She knew it to be the middle of the night, and she knew she would not sleep again. So, she sewed. She had an almost finished tunic that ironically, she hadn't known who to give to since it was a darker red colour, but now she knew. She was sure that Jaime had left the Red Keep with very little, so she sat by the fire as she added golden lions to it. And she thought about this, her third marriage.

Two Lannisters and a bastard for husbands. It was a wonder the people in the North didn't hate her with that type of record. She thought of Jaime's handsome face and how soft and gentle he was with her. She liked it when he laughed, and he seemed to do that often. People in the North didn't laugh the way that he did, she thought then. He seemed drawn to her as well, although she knew he still had feelings for his sister. In some ways, it was a comfort. The man was loyal to a fault and loved deeply if his and Cersei's relationship was any indication. The worst was that she had no idea if she would even be able to be a wife to him. It didn't scare her when he stroked her hand and being in his embrace yesterday had felt safe and not scary. But Ramsay had done things to her. Horrible, hateful, hurtful things to her.

Some of those scars littered her body — others her soul. The one thing Sansa wanted, as much as Northern independence, was a family with children. She had snuck moon tea when she could with Ramsay and had prayed the rest of the time that he never got his child on her, and thankfully, he had not. But the desire for her own family, at some point, some far future, was still in Sansa. And she knew what had to happen to have children; she didn't know if Jaime would be patient enough to wait for her. Finishing the tunic, she smiled a small satisfied grin.

When she rose and dressed for the day, her wedding day, she fingered the gowns in her possession. The was a dark blue one that she had been working on for some time, fancier than anything she had ever worn at Winterfell and so different from either of the previous wedding gowns that she knew she would wear it.

When she opened her door, she startled to see Sandor Clegane propped up against the wall. Her eyes clashed with his as he hastily made his way to his feet.

She grinned.

"Couldn't find a bed?" her voice held nothing but amusement.

He grunted and then scrubbed a hand over his face. She realized that it didn't bother her now. She too had scars on her body. She knew what it took to survive something so brutal that it physically marked you. And she knew it made you stronger, not weaker.

"Just wanted…" he sighed. "Fuck little bird. Are you sure you are alright with this? I could have you on a horse and halfway to the Vale or the Riverlands before they know you're gone."

She looked stunned at that offer. Sandor was serious. Both their lives would be all but forfeit, but he would. What had she ever done to earn the devotion of such a man? She came closer to him, and taking a chance, cupped his scarred cheek.

"The fact that you would offer means more than I can ever express."

He nodded and put his large hand over hers.

"You'll survive the lion, Little Bird. He's not the worst man."

She nodded. "I will."

"She's a cunt."

Sansa laughed and then threw her arms around Sandor. "Gods, I missed you."

Stunned, he hugged her back.

When they stepped apart from one another, she looked at him. "I prayed for you. That you were safe and that you found some peace. I am glad you're here Sandor, in my home. No matter what happens, you always have a place here."

He shook his head at her. "Once the war is over..."

She interrupted. "Once the war is over and she goes south, I'll have an even greater need to have good men loyal to me. You are always welcome in the North; in Winterfell. For as long as I am here, this is your home as well, Sandor."

He saw the truth in her eyes. Sandor didn't have the heart to tell her about his plans for his brother. But it warmed something in him that she thought he was worthy of a place by her side. He nodded.

"I need to find Jaime," Sansa said, and they walked through the corridors until she came to his room, a short distance away. She knocked softly and smiled when he opened the door. He was dressed in only a tunic and breeches, his feet bare, which Sansa seemed fascinated by.

"My lady?" he said, breaking her out of her musings. She blushed and looked up at him. He opened the door wider, and she stepped inside, leaving Sandor behind.

"I made this for you," she said and practically shoved the tunic towards him. He looked stunned and took the garment, unfolding it to see the lions stitched proudly on the red tunic. "For today. I thought you should have your sigil and your house colours."

"Sansa, this is incredible. Thank you," Jaime said, overwhelmed by her. "Can I hug you?"

She blushed deeper and nodded. She liked how he always asked. It gave her a chance to say no. He drew her into his arms and sighed happily as if her being there made him happy.

"How are you feeling?"

She puffed out a little breath. "Nervous. Scared. The godswood… It was where my last wedding took place."

Jaime felt the anger start to simmer. "We will speak with the Queen. I am sure there is somewhere else."

She drew back slightly. "My mother had a small sept. My father built it for her. I want to take the vows of the seven, Jaime."

He was shocked. He'd assumed they would marry in the way of the North, but he understood that had been what had happened at her last wedding. And he saw a slight gleam in her eye.

"What are you thinking?"

Her smile got a touch more full. "If we marry in the way of the seven, then no one in the south can deny our marriage. It gives us more power, Jaime."

He cupped her cheek. "My smart little wolf."

She preened under the compliment. They both knew she was correct.

"Come, My Lady, let us break our fast and break the news to our beloved Queen."

He pulled on his socks and boots and then was struggling with his doublet when Sansa was there. She brushed away his hand, seeing how this was almost impossible with only his left.

"Let me you silly goose," she said, exasperation and affection in her voice. Jaime stood stock still as she helped him dress. Cersei never had. She'd insisted on a valet for him, deeming it beneath her to watch him struggle. She still hated that he'd lost his sword hand, still had not entirely accepted it.

He watched as Sansa's hands did the buckles. Today he looked every inch the Lord of Casterly Rock; purposefully. He might not have much here, but he was still heir to a great seat all on his own, and the Dragon Queen would be well to be aware of that.

"Done," Sansa said, grinning.

He couldn't help it. He leaned in and kissed her. It was soft and sweet and over in a second. She didn't even have a moment to protest, but her eyes had got impossibly wide.

He was just about to apologize when she leaned up and pressed her lips against his, and he groaned and dragged her closer, deepening the kiss for a moment more.

When they finished, their eyes locked. "Jaime," she said in a breathy voice, and he'd never heard anything better in his entire life.

"Sansa."

"I've never been kissed like that before," she told him, the truth of her statement almost bringing him to his knees. How in seven fucking hells had she been so misused her entire life? He raged. She was sweet and innocent and kind.

"Well, then I will make it my mission to kiss you like that for the rest of our days," he told her softly, and she blushed but nodded.

"I think I'd like that."

The pounding on Jaime's door, along with Sandor's irritated voice motivated them to get moving. But as they walked towards the Great Hall, Jaime slipped his hand into hers. She was to be his wife in twelve short hours, and he'd touch her as much as she allowed. She smiled at him to let him know that she approved and then tugged him to the front table to sit beside her.

He smiled at her and took her place. Both of them felt the stares of the entire hall on them. Both knew that the North was against this marriage, but word had spread about the price of non-compliance. Jon looked sour at their holding hands and turned away. Dany looked positively gleeful that they were willing to still go through with her plan. Tyrion was already into the wine, and Varys gave Sansa a cryptic nod.

It was mid-day when they were all summoned back to the Great Hall. Sansa had been in the kitchens, trying to figure how to stretch the food to have a wedding feast that Dany demanded. Jaime had been in the yard, sparring as usual. Brienne was in a particularly foul mood, and even though he knew why, he had ignored it. There was nothing to be said. Jaime knew he’d never return Brienne’s feelings and he was fully and totally committed to Sansa.

When Jaime entered the Great Hall, Brienne behind him, it was to see a group of Ironborn, asking to fight for the North. Everyone was there. Davos, Tyrion, Jorah, Jon, Bran, Arya, Yohn, Sandor and Greyworm and the woman from Naath. And Sansa. She was standing just behind the Queen.

Even though Dany stood at the front, Theon Greyjoy had eyes only for Lady Sansa. When Dany smiled at him and said she accepted his sword, Sansa moved swiftly, and Theon hugged her tightly, swinging her around and murmuring into her ear. Jaime could see the tears in her eyes and the happiness. Jaime's eyes turned to Dany, and he saw a pure hatred there for his soon to be wife that yet another man had chosen Sansa over her.

When Theon finally put her down, Dany's voice rang out. "And where is your sister?"

Theon turned, his arm never leaving Sansa's side. Jaime wondered why he didn't feel jealous at their apparent closeness, but he could see that Theon looked upon her as a sister.

"She went to take back the Iron Island. Euron is in King’s Landing. He shares a bed with the Queen and rumour has it that she might be pregnant with his child. A marriage between them is expected to be announced."

Jaime felt something roil in his guts. Theon met his eyes.

"Is the Queen not already pregnant?" Tyrion's voice sounded through the hall. Jaime closed his eyes and thanked the seven for his little brother.

"No, My Lord. She is not."

Jaime reeled. She had lied. Again. To keep him there, beside her and under her power. And now she was fucking Euron Greyjoy. He looked to his betrothed and knew she would never do something like that to him. Sansa Stark might be the smartest player in the game of thrones, but she was not evil. Not like Cersei. She was loyal and honest and kind.

Theon swallowed. "It is said she has sent assassins after her traitorous brothers."

Ahhh, there it was, Jaime thought. The final blow. No child, a new lover and an order for his death. And all because he'd wanted to fight for the living. Whatever was left, whatever small kernel of loyalty that might have remained vanished in an instant.

He met Sansa's eyes, and she saw the truth there. She gave him the slightest of nods as if to say she knew the pain he was in. But he would not be alone this time in dealing with it. He had her. He had the North. He had his vows to her. He felt something release, almost as if he'd been waiting for this final betrayal and now, he could move forward with his life. Because he knew, at that moment, the only way he'd ever go south again was with Sansa Stark by his side as his wife to dethrone his sister.

"Well, Theon Greyjoy, you have arrived just in time for a wedding in the North," Dany pronounced, her smile tinged with madness. How she did not sense the tension in the hall was anyone's guess, but she either didn't care or was utterly oblivious to it.

Theon scanned the room, but when he felt Sansa stiffen, he knew immediately what had happened.

"No," he murmured, assaulted by that horrible night. "No." His voice was louder and surer.

"Theon, stop," Sansa said softly. "I've agreed."

"Who?"

Jaime stepped forward, and Theon tightened his grip on Sansa. His eyes flashed to Dany and then to Jon. He pressed a kiss to Sansa's forehead. "Forgive me."

Then he stepped away from her and drew his sword, pointing it at Dany. Shocked gasps rang the hall.

"I promised her that she would never again be wed against her will. You will not force this on her."

Dany looked stunned. No one had ever openly defied her like this and lived to speak of it. Her eyes narrowed. "I am the Queen, and you pledged yourself to me, Theon Greyjoy. She will marry Jaime Lannister tonight in the Godswood. And make no mistake, it will be a real marriage."

Theon blanched. He walked closer, Greyworm being held back by Arya and Jon looking around wildly. This was spinning out of control.

"How will you ensure that, Your Grace? Will you force someone to stand there and watch as Jaime rapes her? If you do, you are no better than Ramsay Bolton."

All eyes shot to Sansa who was starting to shake and was pale white. Jaime was there in an instant, his arms around her. He wanted to be sick. Theon had tears streaming down his face. "Do you know what it is like to watch a man rape your sister, Your Grace?" He paused. "Because I do."

The hall was silent in shocked horror. "I will die before that happens again." Theon's eyes flicked to Jon's. "For fuck sakes, she's your fucking sister," he all but yelled into the hall. "How can you let her do this?"

Everyone in the hall looked sick. Rumours, of course, had circulated, but Theon had now put those to bed by telling everyone what had happened.

"Theon," came Sansa's soft voice. She felt Jaime's arms squeeze her and gained strength. She shuddered once and walked towards him. She rested her hand on his arm. "Theon look at me." He did. "It's ok. It is not like that with Jaime. Trust me, Theon, please."

"I promised you, Sansa. I promised," he cried, his voice breaking. He dropped his sword, and she folded him in her arms. He was a mess.

"I know. But Jaime is not Ramsay. Trust me. Please. I need you. I cannot have you die for me," Sansa said, whispering into his ear.

He raised his eyes to hers. "Are you sure?"

She nodded, stroking his cheek. "I am."

She turned to the Dragon Queen. "We will not be wed in the godswood but in the small sept, with the vows of the seven."

Dany met Sansa's gaze, and for once, there was only compassion there. Then it was gone, and she nodded, and she strode from the hall, shaken by what had just happened.

When it was only Theon, the Stark's, Sandor, Brienne and the Lannister's, everyone finally moved. The first was Theon, who jumped on Jon, smashing his fist into his face. "She's your fucking sister," he was howling at him, battering Jon's face against the stone floor. Sandor hauled him off and held him back.

"Easy," he said, secretly pleased to see the blood gushing from Jon's broken nose.

The pretty bastard leapt to his feet. "She threatened to take her armies, Theon. What the fuck was I supposed to do?"

"You know what she went through, Jon. The only reason you didn't kill me was that I saved her. And now what, you stand by while your Queen forces this on her?"

"She's your Queen as well. The Ironborn bent the knee."

Theon and Jon stood there, glaring at one another. It was true. Both had pledged their loyalty to Daenerys.

"I won't stand by and watch another man rape her," Theon said.

Jaime had enough. Since he was said man, and he had no intention of raping anyone, let alone his wife, he stepped forward, between the two men.

"That will never happen."

They both glared at him, and he met their eyes. "That. Will. Never. Happen."

They saw the truth in his green eyes. Then Sansa was there, and by his side and they watched how soft he was with Sansa. Whatever Jaime Lannister was, he'd not assault her.

"Are you alright?" He cupped her cheek. Having her most hateful memory discussed in front of everyone had to be devastating. He was sick at the thought of her being raped but having it witnessed. Well, that piece of information had shaken him to his core. He wanted to do nothing more than take her away from here, from this place that had seen so much of her terror and humiliation.

"I'm sorry you're getting a wife so ill-used."

His mouth dropped open, and then he growled. "You are perfect, Sansa. Never say that again." He cupped her face and kissed her, in front of their family and friends and whoever the fuck else wanted to watch them. She pressed her lips back against him, needing him to chase away the ugly memories.

"I will never force myself on you. I'll wait forever until you are ready," Jaime whispered into her ear, and she felt the tears come to her eyes as she nodded.

"Thank you."

When they turned back, Jon and Theon met their eyes.

"Ok," was all Theon said, and Jon nodded at them.

Arya was the next to approach her. "You never said."

Sansa shrugged. "What was there to say?"

Arya growled at her and Sansa gave her a soft smile. "I survived, sister. Just like you."

Arya knew few in the world could go through the training to be a faceless man. It was brutal and impossibly hard. But when she thought about what her sister had suffered, here in the rooms and halls of their home, her gut churned. She wished, in a way, that Ramsay had still been alive when she had returned home. She knew ways to make him suffer for weeks. But Sansa had taken her revenge.

Arya watched as Jaime held her hand and gently asked what she needed to do to prepare for the wedding. Somehow, against all the odds, they worked. Arya wasn't as good as Sansa at the game of thrones, but even she could see what a force they were becoming.

She'd heard Sansa speak of what Theon had done for her, and she had been shocked when Sansa had almost thrown herself into his arms. She had to give him credit, pulling a sword on Dany was more than Jon had done so far.

Her gaze turned to her cousin. He was struggling. Only Sansa seemed not to know what he felt for her; a blind person could see it, which meant that Dany had to know. He carried such guilt and was so different from the boy he'd been when they were children. But they all were. What made his struggle so much worse? She needed to find out because if Jon kept this up, he would break and be useless to them all. Her final gaze landed on Sandor, and she walked over to him.

He looked ill at what he had just heard. He'd always had a soft spot for her sweet sister. He'd talked about her enough on their travels that Arya knew that he too was half in love with her. The difference between Jon and Sandor was that Sandor knew he never had a chance with her, whereas Jon thought he had.

"Tell me he's a good man," Arya all but demanded of him.

Sandor's grey eyes met hers. He grunted something unintelligible out. Then he sighed. "He won't hurt her. Not like that."

She nodded.

"Fucking mess if you ask me."

Arya smiled. "That it is."

"Wonder what will happen when everyone realizes they've just witnessed the marriage of the next King and Queen of Westeros."

Arya threw back her head and laughed. She slapped him on the back. "That's what I like about you Sandor. You look like a big dumb bear, but you've got a brain."

Then they both watched as Jaime led Sansa from the room. Despite their japes, both knew it was a real possibility; and that made the danger Sansa was in, more significant than ever before.


	9. Chapter 9

Tyrion hurried from the Hall after what he just witnessed and found a chamber pot to empty his stomach. He'd known, of course, what she had gone through. But to watch the anguish on Theon Greyjoy's face. And Sansa. Sweet Sansa. For fuck sakes, this was worse than even he had predicted. By now, everyone would have heard what had happened. Sansa had the loyalty of yet another house, and Dany looked like a monster. Tyrion wanted to take her head himself when she said this would be a real marriage. For fuck sakes, what was her problem? He'd never wished for anything so badly, then for the fucking Night King to show up. At this rate, her forces would abandon her. Tyrion had seen the looks on Missandei and Jorah's faces when they too had borne witness to what Sansa Stark had been put through.

_Thank fucking gods it was Jaime she was marrying_, Tyrion thought. For all his brother's fuck-ups, he was, at his heart, a good man. With Cersei all but casting him off, lying about another child, Jaime would pour all his loyalty and devotion into Sansa and keeping her safe. And he'd never harm a single hair on her head.

When he'd finally gathered himself, Tyrion walked into the Queen's chambers. She was subdued, sitting and sipping at her wine, while the other's looked on in worry.

"Your Grace," came Missandei's sweetly soft voice. She was stroking Dany's back. "What can we do for you?"

Dany shuddered. "I'm not a monster. She forced me to do this. People will see that. They have to."

Jorah and Tyrion exchanged incredulous looks. "Your Grace, perhaps an olive branch. Maybe postponement of the wedding until after the war with the Night King," Jorah tried to suggest.

Her purple eyes flashed. "No. I am the Queen. They will marry tonight. It matters not whether it is in the godswood or a sept."

Tyrion sighed tiredly and scrubbed at his face. He knew she would not be moved. So, he decided to stop discussing it. Jaime and Sansa would be married, and if they both survived the upcoming wars, Tyrion was sure they would take their place on the Iron Throne. For now, though, they had to endure. He turned the talk to Euron and the golden company that were in the south, distracting his Queen, who, he feared, was losing ground by the day.

Arya followed Jon into the godswood, where she saw him kneel and retch up his breakfast. He was shaking, but before she could get to him, Ghost was there. She saw as he buried himself in his wolf's fur, stroking him and sobbing. Thank fucking gods, she thought. At least he felt something. He was so stoic and calm most days that she was worried all emotion had left him. When he finally pulled himself together, she approached.

His brown eyes were pools of deep pain and regret, and she could see the anguish there. It tugged at her heart, this brother that she loved best, suffering.

"I didn't fucking know," he told her. “I knew it was bad. But not that- I never thought it was that.”

She nodded. "Neither did I. Sansa never said."

Jon heaved a bit again. "I can't even fucking imagine…."

She agreed.

"You love her."

Jon's eyes went wary, and Arya waved a hand. "It's obvious, and you're not a good liar. Not with me."

They were quiet for a time before Jon finally spoke. "When she came through the gates of Castle Black, I had just killed the men who betrayed and killed me. I thought she was a fucking dream. I thought I was dead again. She couldn't be there, my brain screamed at me. She was half-frozen, afraid, hurt and scared. And she was the best fucking thing I'd seen in years, Arya. She was the best thing I’d seen since I left our home."

He was openly crying now, and Arya fit herself into his arms, sitting against his chest, with Ghost on the other side.

"I didn't want to fight anymore. I was tired. Done. I wanted to run away within her. To Essos, perhaps. No one would know us there."

He chuckled. "She begged for my forgiveness. Said she'd been awful to me when we were children."

Arya snorted. "She was."

Jon smiled. "She wasn’t as bad as she thought she was. But I understood why. Your mother never made things easy for her."

Arya snorted at that. Catelyn Stark had clung stubbornly to her southern views and customs and had been determined to raise her girls as proper ladies. Not that it had done either one of them any good when they’d gone south to King’s Landing.

"And then she was there, in the bleakest castle in Westeros, begging me to fight for Winterfell. When I said we didn't have enough men, she said she'd do it alone." Jon slanted Arya a look. “She would have. She’d have rallied and gathered men. People love her.”

Arya felt something warm in her heart, knowing how much their sister had fought for their home in spite of what had been done to her here.

"I thought I was sick what I felt for her. I must have come back wrong, I kept thinking. I loved her so fucking much, and she was my fucking sister. When Sam told me told me who my mother was, she was my first thought." He shook his head. “My first thought was I could have had her; had I known. Before I left, I would have married her.”

"I'm sorry," came Arya's soft voice.

"I don't deserve her," Jon replied. "But I would never hurt her, Arya. Do you think I don't want to tell Dany to fuck off? That I don't want to pull a sword and threaten her?" He shook his head. "She thinks she loves me, and I can barely stand to be in the same room as her. Sansa told me not to go South, but I had to. She said I had to play the game, but I can't. I’ve tried.”

Arya squeezed him. Hard. "Jon, you have us. Sansa loves you, even if it's only as a brother. You were all she talked about when I came back. She worried Jon, every day. And prayed for your safe return." Arya paused. "You have to understand what it was like for us, seeing you arrive with Daenerys by your side, knowing what you had given up."

He shook then. "If I hadn't, we'd all be dead. We would stand no chance against the Night King."

Arya sighed. She knew this, she did. And so, did Sansa. She would need to speak with her sister as well. She knew she loved Jon, and he was hurting as well. They all were, and none of this mess was of their making. They sat for a time, quiet in their way.

"You know that this only makes them stronger," Arya said after a time and Jon grunted. They both could see the bond between Sansa and Jaime.

She looked at him then. "Do you want the Iron Throne?"

The look of abject horror on Jon's face made Arya laugh.

"She was born to be Queen. Of the North for certain, but more, for the realm. She'd be good at it. She's smart, and she cares about the people. And with Jaime Lannister by her side, she’d be even stronger." Arya said conversationally.

"They'd be loved," Jon added quietly, and Arya hummed her agreement. “They’d lookout for the common people.”

Eventually, Arya pushed to her feet and held her hand out to Jon.

"Enough moping. You promised me we'd spar. I've heard stories of you, Jon, with your blade of Valyrian steel."

His sister was grinning at him, and for the first time in forever, he felt lighter. He'd always love Sansa; he could hardly imagine loving anyone else, but she was taken. And by a good man. A man who Jon could see was already growing to care for her. A man who would protect her. A man who could, perhaps, one day, give her the family he knew she wanted. Jon wondered if perhaps he and Sansa were just too broken to ever work the way that she and Jaime could. In the end, he wanted her happiness more than anything, and he knew Jaime could give that to her.

He pushed himself off from the tree. "Aye, I'll spar with you. Let me talk to her first. I need to make things right."

Arya cocked her head. "Half an hour or I come and drag you from her chambers."

Jon nodded, and they walked back into Winterfell together.

When Jon knocked on Sansa's door, he had no idea what he would say or the reception he might receive. Theon had every right to react the way he had, and it only made his inaction worse. It frustrated him how no one knew how significant the threat of the Night King was; but even still, he knew Sansa had deserved more from him. He'd let her down at every turn. When her voice called out for him to enter, he pushed inside to find her, and Sam huddled over a piece of paper.

They both looked up, and the tension in the room was palpable. His friend was still wary of him because he hadn't announced his claim to the Iron Throne and openly challenged Dany. _He too didn't understand_, Jon thought. Then again, it made him sick to think about what she had done to Sam's father and brother. If they could survive this upcoming battle, Jon promised that he would make her see reason; either with his words or his sword.

Sam nodded at Jon and took his leave. He'd be performing the ceremony tonight in the small Sept, and he and Sansa had gone over the wording. Even though it was her third marriage, it had to be perfect if they wanted to make it meaningful.

She stood and faced Jon, not sure what to say. Her emotions were mixed, but the predominant one was anger.

He looked at her and shuffled his feet a bit. Then he sighed deeply and scrubbed a hand down his face. "I can tell you I'm sorry every day and it will never be enough. What Theon did for you, it should have been me."

"It should have."

He met her eyes. "I'm so fucking scared, Sansa. Scared she's going to kill you. Scared she's going to leave us here, alone. Scared that I've made a terrible mistake."

Sansa huffed out a breath. "I know Jon. I know."

"I needed armies." He shrugged and then felt the tears come. "I fucking needed armies, Sansa." He almost crumpled under the weight of what was coming for them.

She came to him then and pulled him into his arms. He was sobbing into her neck. "I'm so fucking sorry. For Ramsay. For Dany. For all of it. That you have to pay this price."

She crooned to him and held him. She'd had months and months to deal with what Ramsay had done to her. She had to remember that he was learning the full scope right now. And she knew they needed the men that Dany brought. Jaime and Lord Royce had confirmed it. She'd asked Sandor about the army of the dead, and he'd told her honestly how bad it was. She knew that Jon had done what he thought was right. The worst was how he'd cut himself off from her. Stopped trusting her, stopped talking with her. She told him this.

"I know. But every time I am around you, her anger and jealousy grows. I thought that if I treated you with indifference, it would calm her."

Sansa snorted. The woman was fucking mad. Nothing would calm crazy.

They had moved, so they were sitting together, leaning against her bed. Jon held one of her hands.

"Are you sure you are alright with marrying him?"

Sansa looked at Jon and nodded. "I knew it would have to happen again, one day. I never expected it so soon." She paused. "He's a good man, Jon. And I want children."

Jon smiled at her then and brushed her cheek. "Aye, you'll make a fine mother, Sansa. Little red-haired hellions will be running through the halls of Winterfell in no time, I’d imagine."

She felt the tears come to her eyes and leaned against his shoulder. "Perhaps a boy with blond hair like his father. And you? Don't you want a wife? Children someday?"

He felt his throat close up. "That's not a possibility for me, Sansa. But I'll be Uncle to yours, sister."

He smiled at her and cupped her face when the tears come.

"Don't do this again. Talk to me, Jon. We're family."

He nodded. "I won't."

After a few more moments of silence, he said quietly. "I'd like to bring you to your husband, Sansa. If you'll let me."

She nodded, tears still in her eyes. "I'd like that."

"Arya and I are going to spar. She's been after me for an age." He had a soft smile on his face.

Sansa grinned and helped him to his feet. "Well, I can't miss this."

When they made their way to the yard, Sansa felt lighter than she had in years. She saw that her soon to be husband was finishing up a melee and he was grinning. When he saw her there, his smile widened, and he stopped to come to her side. She loved how he did that; like she was the most essential thing in his world and everyone else could wait until he had greeted her.

"My Lady," he said and bowed and then kissed her hand. Sansa giggled at him and shook her head.

"You are incorrigible, Ser Jaime."

He wiggled his eyebrows and Sansa felt a bolt of lust hum through her body.

"I know." Then he drew her to his side and kissed her; quick and light in front of the whole yard. He loved how she leaned into it, and it gave him hope for their marriage and that he could be good for her.

When they drew apart, she whispered, "Jon and Arya are going to spar."

He raised his eyebrows and took her hand, to stand beside her. She seemed happier and lighter than before and had clearly settled things with her family.

It seemed everyone in Winterfell knew about the match between Arya and Jon, and soon a massive crowd had formed. Arya was grinning, and so was Jon, and for the first time in forever, Sansa finally felt like the Starks were home.

They were magic, was all Sansa could think as she watched them thrust and parry one another. Even Jaime hummed his approval in her ear. He'd taken to standing behind her and murmured different moves and observations about the two of them.

"Your sister is a scary woman, Sansa." She heard his note of admiration, and she felt her pride swell at how Arya had become exactly what she had always wanted to be; a woman able to defend herself in a male-dominated world.

She nodded her agreement. Time and again, she and Jon came at each other, trading insults and japes and grinning like fools. When it finally ended in a draw, a huge roar went up from the gathered crowd. Jon met her eyes, and Jaime's and nodded at them both. He could see how they fit together, and he'd do whatever it took to keep them both alive. It was the least he could do.

When the crowd has dissipated, Sansa pressed a small kiss to Jaime's cheek.

"I need to get ready," she told him softly, and he nodded.

"And I as well. We can't have your husband showing up in his training gear."

She smiled softly at him. 

"I'll see you soon, Jaime."

"And I, you, Sansa."

Then she was gone, and Jaime was left, grinning like a fool and wondering how he'd ever got so lucky. Jaime's good mood was almost broken by the approach of Jon, but the man clasped his hand.

"You make her happy. And I know you won't hurt her. You're good for her."

Jaime nodded. It took a lot for the man to admit that.

"I only want her happiness," Jon said, and shockingly, Jaime felt the same way.

"I'll work hard to make sure I'm worthy."

"Be kind to her. Good and honourable. That's what she deserves."

Jaime nodded and then clasped Jon on the back. "Let's get ready. I'd hate to see what happens if we're late to a wedding arranged by the Dragon Queen."

Jon let out a small grunt and nodded. He knew his heart would break watching her marry another, but Jaime was a good man, and he'd treat her right. In the end, that was all that mattered. It had always been about Sansa, and this was no different. It was time to get his sister married; and this time, it was to a man that was worthy of her name and her love.


	10. Chapter 10

Arya slipped into her sister's chambers after she had bathed. This might be a forced marriage, although the way Sansa and Jaime acted Arya bet there were more real feelings there than either would care to admit, but her sister would still kill them all if they showed up at her wedding in muddy training clothes.

Arya stopped to observe Sansa for a moment. She was impossibly beautiful; indeed, one of the loveliest ladies in all of Westeros. Arya knew that beauty hid a core of steel, and a sharp, intelligent mind. She cared for people; Arya had seen it. Her sister no longer resembled the silly little girl she had been, and Arya was proud of the woman she’d become.

Arya liked how Ser Jaime seemed to light up with he saw her sister. She'd noted how close he stood to her, angling his body in such a way as to protect her, shield her, speak with only her. She'd watched as Sansa smiled, and blushed around him.

And the kisses! Arya had never thought she'd see the day again when Sansa would allow a man such liberties, but she had, in front of everyone and Arya had seen how she had liked it. Arya would never trust the Lannisters, but she like Ser Jaime for the happiness he brought her sister.

A maid was helping Sansa into her gown, and Arya's eyes narrowed.

"Stop," she said and walked towards her sister. She had on a sheer shift and Arya could see the puckered marks. She lifted the shift, so Sansa's back, buttocks and thighs were visible. Her skin was riddled with scars, burns, bites and gouges.

"Seven fucking hells, Sansa," Arya's choked voice filled the room.

Sansa turned, and Arya saw the shame in her face. Sansa lowered her eyes and Arya almost felt as sick as that thought as any. She cupped Sansa's chin.

"Don't. This isn't your fault. You're beautiful. And you're a survivor. Do not ever make yourself less for what you’ve overcome.”

Sansa gulped and swallowed hard. "He liked to cut me. To see how much he could make me scream before I'd beg him to stop."

Arya felt like she was going to be sick. "Sansa."

Her sister gave a bitter laugh. "The moment Jaime sees; he will be as disgusted as you."

Arya saw the crushing sadness in her sister's eyes. She shook her head.

"If he is then he is as bad as any other man," Arya said, her whole body almost shaking.

"He deserves a wife who doesn't look like this. I want to be beautiful for my husband, Arya. But Ramsay assured that would never happen. What type of man could look beyond what he did to me?”

"That's shit, and you know it. You're worth ten of Jaime Lannister if he doesn’t see your beauty."

Sansa threw her arms around her sister. "I love you, Arya. And I'm glad you are here for this wedding. It is the one I have the most hope for."

Arya cocked her head. "Do you love him?"

Sansa paused. "No. Not yet, at least. I think I could if given time. There's something there. He makes me… feel again and I like that."

Arya nodded. She had seen all of that. "Well, let's get you dressed and ready for your husband, sister."

A short time later, even Arya nodded her approval. Sansa was stunning. The deep blue gown had been embroidered with snowflakes and direwolves in silver thread. Sansa wore her hair in a single braid around the crown of her head, with the rest a long waterfall of red down her back. A soft knock at the door and Jon stepped in. His breath caught. She was beautiful.

"Sansa."

She smiled at him and handed him a cloak. It had the Stark direwolf on it and was a soft grey. He frowned slightly.

"For the cloaking." He nodded. He'd never been to a wedding, let alone one that followed the teachings of the seven. He knew Northern weddings were shot and to the point, but this was beyond his knowledge.

"Are you sure? Like this?"

She nodded. "It is the only way. And I can't… I can't do this in the godswood again."

Jon understood and draped the cloak around her and then offered her his arm.

"Shall we?"

Sansa smiled. She had never had her family at a wedding before unless you counted on the farce that she and Theon had been forced to participate in. Even if she wasn't in love with Jaime Lannister, yet, this was so unlike her previous marriages. She resented Daenerys, forcing them, but she couldn't find fault with her soon to be husband. And even though the wedding night itself made her nervous, she trusted him. He said he'd wait until she was ready, and she'd seen the truth in his eyes.

"I'm ready."

Jaime had a bath called to his room and scrubbed himself clean. He had no illusions that Sansa was ready to be intimate; hell, he'd be lucky if she allowed anything more than a few chaste kisses and for him to hold her tonight. And somehow, for her, he was alright with that. Hearing what she had been through, seeing that ugliness earlier, he was happy he would be in a position to keep her safe for the rest of her days. Or for as long as they both survived the upcoming wars. He'd been truthful when he had said he would wait for as long as she needed. Still, he wouldn't show up to his wedding looking like he'd just come from the yard. He fingered the tunic she had made him, marvelling at her stitches, when his door opened, and Tyrion entered. His brother took one look at his half-dressed state and tsked.

"Time to get going, Jaime, or you'll be late."

Jaime nodded and pulled the tunic over his head, smelling the faint trace of lavender and lemons. It made his heartbeat just a bit faster. Soon she would be his, and there was a fierce protectiveness that rose up in him at that thought.

"I never thought I'd see the day," Tyrion said, helping Jaime with the leather doublet he'd chosen. It was black leather with golden lions and reminded Tyrion of something their father had often worn.

"None of us did," Jaime said, smiling softly. "She's a good woman, Tyrion."

His brother stilled. "I know, Jaime. The two of you…"

Jaime's head whipped around. "The two of us what?"

Tyrion huffed out a short breath. He met his brother's gaze. "She has no idea what she has done, Jaime. The two of you…. There is already talk."

"What talk?" Jaime got a funny feeling in his gut.

"Talk that people would back you both as the next King and Queen. Talk that together you would be unstoppable. Talk that you might be the only two that could bring peace to the realm."

Jaime's eyes widened. "I never…"

Tyrion chuckled and shook his head. "No, you did not. And neither did she, although I'd be shocked if she didn't work out the possibilities. No one has a mind like that woman. I hated Litterfinger, but her education at that man's hands was the first-rate."

Tyrion took a long pull of wine, before helping Jaime with the buckles on the doublet. "Think about it. Your military mind, her political one. She's loved, you’re handsome. Together, you bring at least four of the seven kingdoms without even trying. There is no one left in the Reach or the Stormlands."

Jaime felt sick. This marriage would make her an even bigger target to both Cersei and Dany.

"Does your Queen think the same thing? This makes her less safe, not more, Tyrion."

Tyrion shook his head. Dany hadn’t yet figured it out, and neither he, nor Varys was eager to tell her.

The brothers looked at one another and then Tyrion’s mouth dropped open. "You like her."

Jaime's mouth thinned.

Tyrion stood there, mouth agape. "This isn't just a duty or a punishment. You like her." He felt gobsmacked. He knew that Lady Sansa looked upon Jaime the way women had since his brother had first been named to the Kingsguard. His brother was a handsome man, that cut a dashing figure. But he'd never once, in all his years, had Tyrion seen Jaime ever look at a woman the way they did him. He only ever had eyes for their sister.

"She's good, Tyrion. Kind, smart. Witty."

Tyrion nodded, still processing what he had learned. "Do you love her?"

Jaime's eyes met his, his voice low and quiet in the room. "Not yet. But…"

Tyrion felt his entire world shift. Not yet. Which meant Jaime was halfway there. _Seven fucking hells_, Tyrion thought, at once overjoyed for his brother and scared out of his mind. He worried what Dany might do if she discovered this wasn't a real punishment but something that they both would have eventually wanted. Then Tyrion tried to remember a time when two monarchs had loved each other. The loyalty they would command if people saw them in love. The heir to Casterly Rock, and the princess of the North; not only married but in love and dedicated to one another. They’d be crowned King and Queen by simple acclimation alone.

"And Cersei?"

Jaime shook his head. "She lied again, Tyrion. Told me there was a child." He felt ill at the thought. "I want something good in my life. Sansa is my last chance at honor.”

Tyrion looked hard at his brother. He'd always been the best of them, despite some of his questionable decisions. Tyrion had even thought that if he could only break free from their sister, then he might be something more than what he had been. Now it seemed he had found a woman that he was willing to fight for and that would stand by him. Tyrion had never thought he'd see the day when Jaime would step away from Cersei’s toxic manipulations.

"If we win, and you both survive…"

"I'll stay in the North. With Sansa. Whatever she wants. Perhaps the Rock might even be yours, little brother."

Tyrion was stunned. He'd always assumed that even if they won, Jaime would head south again, to stand by their vile sister until the bitter end.

"You are serious? You'd stay here? With her?"

"I made a vow to Sansa. I won't break it. I will stay by her side." Jaime paused. "I want children, Tyrion. My children. Sons and daughter's that can call me their father openly. That are proud of me. That have my name. I want to raise the next generation of Lannister lions." It was softly said, almost as if Jaime were ashamed of such a desire.

Tyrion coughed and then nodded, overcome by the emotion of the moment.

"Well, then let's get you wed, brother." He could see it. Jaime and Sansa and their brood of beautiful children; whether at Winterfell, the Rock or King’s Landing. Dany might have forced this marriage, but at that moment, Tyrion knew it would have happened regardless. They might not be in love at this exact moment, but there were close. Tyrion almost shuddered to think that he told Sansa she didn’t have a chance with his brother, now knowing how Jaime felt about her.

Jaime nodded and went to his bed and pulled out a large red cloak. Tyrion's eyes widen further.

"How?"

Jaime shrugged. "It felt wrong leaving it behind."

Then both brothers grinned at one another.

"Father would love this," Tyrion said, and Jaime barked out a harsh laugh. They both knew it to be true. Tywin had been angling for years to get Sansa under Lannister control and for Jaime to step up and take his rightful place. Today, the Great Lion would have had everything he’d ever wanted with this hastily arranged marriage.

"Come, little brother. Let's get this done and hope this appeases your Dragon Queen for a time." Jaime had a smile on his face and a lightness in his step. He wanted this; this woman, these people, this life. He wanted to be a husband and a father. And he wanted all of that with Sansa Stark.

Jaime and Tyrion entered the little sept to see it packed with every noble-born lord and lady still in residence at Winterfell. They made their way to the front, where Samwell Tarly was waiting, looking nervous and slightly ill at ease. Jaime leaned in and patted him on the back.

"Thank you, Sam. For doing this."

The man gave him a watery smile and nodded. Then Jaime turned to wait for his bride, letting his eyes wander over the gathered crowd. He saw the little silver-haired queen with her entourage, and she gave him a cool look. Sandor and Lord Royce were there, along with several knights of the Vale. Every single Northern Lord was here was in the Sept. Bran was in his chair near the front and Jaime met his eyes. The odd man gave him a slight smile and nod as if to say he approved, and Jaime wondered what he had seen. Then his eyes drifted and met Sandor's and the big man also gave a slight nod of approval. It was funny, Jaime had never had that in his entire life, but he'd somehow found it here at the ends of Westeros. Theon was looking nervous and stalked up to Jaime.

"You promise you’ll be good to her?"

Jaime nodded and then clasped the man's hand. "I will never hurt her. Ever."

The Ironborn Lord nodded. "She's good, Sansa. Kind and sweet. And smart."

"Theon," Jaime said gently. "I know. I care about her."

Theon swallowed hard and looked into Jaime's eyes. Whatever he saw must have reassured him. He gave a jerky nod and went to stand by Bran.

The last person's eyes he met were Brienne's. She looked hurt and angered and sad all at the same time. He wished there was something, anything he could say to make things better between them again, but there was not. He knew she had feelings for him. Jaime had known for some time. Perhaps in some alternative lifetime, they would have been something he could reciprocate. He hoped in time that they might be friends again, but that would up to her decide. He didn't know if she would be uncomfortable with them both now that they were to be married.

Lord Royce was the next to approach him, and Jaime held the man's gaze.

"She is like a daughter to me," the Vale Lord said sternly, and Jaime nodded.

"I don't like you, Kingslayer. Never have. But I've watched you this past week since you've been back. You seem changed." Lord Royce leaned in. "Just know that a single word from her, and she has my entire Kingdom at her beck and call."

"I'm glad that you came to her aid and that you stayed and are loyal to her. I won't hurt her," Jaime said, and Royce nodded and clasped his hand.

Then he stood by himself at the front and waited for his bride.

When Sansa arrived at the small sept, she had Arya one on side and Jon on the other. They had both cleaned up after their sparring earlier, and Sansa appreciated the effort. Jon wore one of the tunics she had made him before he'd left for Dragonstone and had tamed his curls into a bun at the back of his head. He gave her a soft smile and squeezed her arm, and she returned it. Everything was so different from her previous weddings, and she couldn't believe she finally had her family with her.

When they entered the small sept, Sansa's breath caught. Jaime was bathed in candlelight, making him appear every inch the golden knight she now knew he had strived to become. He was clad in a black leather doublet, with golden lions stitched on them and Sansa was struck with precisely who this man was and how powerful he was in his own right.

Jaime Lannister never sought power; not the way his siblings had. But he had it all the same. He might smile easily, and jape with the best of them, but underneath, Sansa was starting to understand that he was a man that took his vows seriously. And he had such a capacity for love. Draped over his arm with his golden hand was a crimson red cloak. His eyes never left hers, and she gave him the slightest of smiles and watched as his entire face transformed. He took her breath away with his beauty and his devotion to her. It might not be love yet, but Jaime cared; it radiated from him and Sansa let out a soft sigh of contentment. Her soon to be husband would never hurt her, she knew this, deep inside her heart.

Jaime had known his bride would be beautiful. Sansa Stark always was. But tonight, she defied even his expectations. He wondered how she might have such a dress waiting for this type of occasion. He was happy that tonight she looked every inch the Northern princess she was. He felt like the luckiest man in the seven kingdoms, knowing she would be his. He'd told Tyrion he didn't love her, not yet. But he knew it would take so little to tip him over. She was warm and gracious and cared for him. She liked to listen to his stories, and she thought his opinion and knowledge was worth something. She made him feel useful. When he was around her, he felt like he could be the man he'd always wanted, that he didn't have to play a game or be something he was not. And she never made him feel like he was lacking. It was a heady feeling for a man who had been told he was a disappointment his entire life.

Jon and Arya walked her to him, and he met both their gazes as they handed her off. This might be a forced marriage, but everyone in the sept understood this would have happened eventually. The pull between Jaime and Sansa had been undeniable from the beginning.

"Hello, little wolf," Jaime said, smiling softly to her. "Doing alright?"

Sansa's heart melted. He knew how difficult this was for you. "Look at you, a golden lion to be sure." The smile she gave him assured him that she was okay.

Sam coughed slightly, and his voice wavered, but everyone heard him when he spoke. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."

Jaime handed her the red cloak as he unhooked the grey one, letting it fall to their feet. Then he draped the Lannister red around her shoulders. He may be in enemy territory, and the North might hate him and his house, but he felt a swell of pride seeing his colours on her. She would be a Lannister. She would be his.

"Last chance to escape, Sansa. After that, you are mine," Jaime said. He tried to keep his voice light and easy, but he couldn't. He wanted her to belong to him; everything was changing so fast, and he hoped she was there with him. His eyes had deepened, and they reflected his desires for her and them.

She swallowed and said, "I am yours, Jaime." He saw the truth there and let out a breath of relief. She wasn’t terrified; in fact, she looked almost happy and excited as if this, or him, might be what she would have chosen on her own. It made Jaime’s confidence swell.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness to the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever." Jaime down reached and held Sansa's hand in his as they continued to stand side by side. Sam lifted their joined hands and tied a ribbon that Sansa had stitched, red with gold lions, around them and in doing so said, "Let it be known that Jaime of House Lannister and Sansa of House Stark are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."

Jaime risked a small glace at Sansa, and he saw her lips curve into a small, fierce smile. He felt his heart clench again at her bravery and her beauty. "In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity," and he unravelled the ribbon, letting it float to their feet. Sam then commanded them to "Look upon each other and say the words of the Seven."

Jaime and Sansa turned to each other than, hands still clasped and looked into each other's eyes as they repeated simultaneously, "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger." Then Jaime said, "I am hers, and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days," while Sansa looked directly at Jaime and repeated, "I am his, and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

There was a moment that passed between them; both wondering if the end of their days would be weeks away with the Night King and his army. But there was something else as well; a hope that they might survive and live to rule here, or in the Westerlands. That they might be together long enough to have children and create a family. And there was a promise in Jaime's eyes. He wouldn't leave her, not now, not ever. Not even for his sister, no matter what happened in the upcoming weeks and months. Sansa gave him a small nod, knowing they both took these vows seriously.

When they had both repeated their vows, Jaime's voice then carried "With this kiss, I pledge my love," and leaned down to kiss Sansa before their gods, their family and the full court. He kept it light and almost chaste, knowing everything she had been through and felt her press closer to him. He willingly pulled her against his side. They were wed. She was now Sansa Lannister. His wife. He kept his hand clutched in hers as they turned to face those who had come to witness their wedding.

They met Daenerys Targaryen's eyes and saw she looked upset. Both felt the chill skitter over their spines. She nodded once at them, but it was as if seeing them there, standing and looking every inch the King and Queen that Westeros desperately needed, she finally understood the folly in forcing them to wed. It was too late, of course, and she knew it as well as anyone else. It was done. But when she looked to her advisors, she saw the same looks of resignation on their faces. Even Ser Jorah, her most trusted man, had a sour look on his face. Dany risked a glance at Jon then and saw that he was looking at his sister with a resigned sadness to him. She wondered at that. Targaryen's were known to love their siblings; marry and have children with each other, but the Starks were not like that. Surely Jon was merely sad that his sister was now under the protection of a man he didn't like. The Queen rose to make her way to the dining hall. What was done was done. With Sansa and Jaime married, she had less cause for worry than the day before. She was convinced she had made the right decision, and she couldn't look back. It was her mantra; only forward, never behind.

Jaime and Sansa let their family and friends offer their congratulations, especially once the silver-haired queen had left the small sept. Most had come to see this marriage for what it was; a necessity and now a possibility. They trusted that Jaime wouldn't hurt her, and they knew that Sansa would make him a better man. When they entered the Great Hall, the feast waiting for them was small compared to the greed of weddings in the Red Keep, but more food than most had seen in weeks. Sansa had fretted how they would feed everyone should they win against the Night King, but for tonight, she was happy to indulge. She had never been to a wedding feast where she could enjoy herself.

Jaime kept his hand in hers until they were seated, and then moved his chair closer so that his thigh brushed hers. He leaned in to whisper in her ear, making her laugh and tickling her ear with his breath. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, and every so often took her hand in his. All eyes were on them, of course, and Jaime did everything possible to ensure everyone knew how much he valued and trusted his new wife. He loved to watch her blush when he touched her, and he could see her heartbeat flutter in her elegant neck. He longed to press a kiss there but worried that it would be too much for her. He sat in wonderment for a time, watching his wife speak with her sister and then Lord Royce. It was so odd that she was his and he could be open with her, so different from the secret and hidden relationship he'd had with Cersei. He found he loved it; craved it. And as soon as Sansa was comfortable, he’d shower with his open affection, even in public. Especially in public, so every man would know that she was taken, by him.

There was a small pang in his heart when he thought of his sister; alone and with Euron Greyjoy in King’s Landing. But he ruthlessly pushed it aside. She had created this reality that they all lived in. It was her hand more than any other that had raised Joffrey and caused Tommen to kill himself. It was her single-minded need to rule everyone that had driven everyone away from her. He knew she would never change, and the woman beside him now deserved his full and undivided attention.

Eventually, he saw Sansa begin to tire, and Dany must of as well, for she stood and was about to call for a bedding ceremony - everyone could see it. Jon stood and raised a goblet to the couple and then shot them a look as if to say, go now!

Jaime hauled Sansa to her feet, and they exited the Hall, hearing the angry whispers of a pissed off Queen behind them. Jaime didn't give a fuck. No one would ever touch his wife ever again without her express permission. His wife. He was surprised what a thrill the word gave him. He was a man that had avoided such an entanglement his entire life and yet, he loved that she was his.

When they got to her chambers, he saw how the servants had moved his meagre belongings in with hers. He bolted the door shut and smiled at her, wiggling his eyebrows. He could practically feel the nerves coming off of her.

He strode towards her and cupped her cheek, needing to put her at ease in her own home. "I'll never touch you unless you ask. This I vow."

She slumped in relief. Then she worried her lower lip. "I want to be a real wife to you, Jaime. I it’s… he hurt me."

Jaime nodded and stroked her cheek. Then her eyes rose and met his, and she continued speaking. "He left marks on me. He made me ugly."

Jaime felt his stomach roil. He wanted to be sick at what was done to her. "It matters, naught Sansa. Nothing he did could dim your beauty."

She shook her head, and she had tears in her eyes. "You haven't seen it. My body is littered with marks. Burns. Bites." She was choking on the words and he drew her into his arms, crooning nonsense to her and hoping to reassure her.

When she settled, he pushed back slightly. He drew her to the bed and sat her on it. Then he stood back and looked at her. "Do you trust me?"

She met his eyes and nodded. He started to unbuckle the doublet, and she was there to help them, and he shrugged out of it, to stand before her in the tunic she had made him. Then he took a deep breath and looked at her before he detached the golden hand from his arm. He had a soft cloth that covered his stump, and he pulled it off so that Sansa could see the snarled mess of tissue that was left. Qyburn had saved his arm, of that there was no doubt. But the scarring was some of the worst anyone had ever seen. It was a brutal reminder of what he had suffered, and he'd shown almost no one in this world. Cersei got sick the first time she saw it, and he had to keep it covered every time he was with her. He looked at Sansa and saw nothing but compassion in her eyes.

"Oh, Jaime," she said, and the leaned down and pressed a kiss to his gnarled flesh. She stroked her fingers over his flesh as if she could somehow give him comfort through her touch.

He felt his eyes flood with tears. And his heart fell. He'd never been accepted for who he was; not by anyone but Sansa was slowly proving that even the ugly parts of him were worthy. Both of their faces were wet with the tears and the emotion that moment had invoked.

"We are survivors, my lady. Never let your scars make you feel ugly." Jaime thought that perhaps they were healing on another because he had never felt more like himself then when he was with Sansa.

She nodded and stood and gave him her back. She glanced at him. "Can you help me?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded as he helped her out of her heavy wedding gown until she was wearing a sheer shift. He pressed a kiss to her neck, and she shivered.

He tried not to let out a gasp when he could see the scars that littered her back. He tried to calm the rage he felt, but he could feel it hot and furious coursing through his blood. She had been so ill-used it made him sick. One day, he hoped, she'd let him kiss every mark that covered her body. He'd make her see how beautiful she was.

She turned and cupped his face and met his eyes.

"Perhaps you can hold me and tell me why you lost your hand."

He met her eyes and swallowed and watched as she climbed into the bed and settled herself beneath the heavy furs. Winter was well and truly here in the North, and the nights were cold, dark and long. He blew out all the candles, so there was only the light from the fire, and then shucked off his breeches, so he had only small clothes and a nightshirt. When he crawled under the furs with her, she came immediately to his side, and he opened his arms, so she settled on his chest. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and heard a happy little sigh from her.

"I like this," she said, realizing it was the truth. She felt safe in Jaime's arms, and it was nothing like either of her previous two wedding nights. She had waited so long for a husband like him. She knew he had done questionable things; she knew he wasn't perfect. But she watched him try each day with her, and she knew that it was worth everything. And it was a wonder to her that she could lie, in only her undergarments, in a man's arms and not feel sheer terror. It gave her hope.

After a time, his voice rumbled out into the semi-darkness.

"Your mother let me go after your brother had captured me. She made me swear a vow to find you and return you and your sister to her safely. She gave me over to Brienne's care," Jaime said with what Sansa knew was a smile. She felt his chest heave out a sigh. "We were captured by Bolton men. When they threatened to rape her, I intervened, and that's when one of them took my sword hand as a punishment."

Sansa gasped and wiggled around so she could raise up a bit, her eyes meeting his in the dark.

"Jaime, that's awful," she said, and he saw the tears in her eyes. For him. Cersei had been outraged, and Sansa was torn apart at what he had suffered. They couldn't be more different.

"It was the right thing to do, despite what it cost me." He paused. "I'd do it again. I would have done it for you, to prevent you from suffering what you did at Bolton hands."

She let out a soft cry and smashed her lips to him, not realizing her chest pressed up against his. He groaned and opened his mouth, his one hand keeping her head close to him as he carded his hand through her hair.

"Sansa," he moaned, and she repeated the sound and wiggled slightly. He could feel the need coming off of her but knew it was too soon. He gentled the kiss until he could nip at her lip.

"You're so strong, Sansa. And when the time is right, I will bed you. But not before. I want you to trust me fully."

He felt her entire body relax. She kissed him one last time and then settled in his arms again. He turned them so that her back was pressed against his chest and he could keep her safe.

"Sleep wife," he whispered in her ear, and she mumbled something back.

Jaime smiled into the dark, amazed at what it felt like to be a married man.

He awoke in the dead of night, to a cold room and a woman in the throes of a nightmare.

"Sansa," he said almost frantically into her ear, shaking her awake. She was thrashing about, and the sounds she was making were gutting him, pleading for someone to stop hurting her.

"Sansa," he said again, shaking her harder until he knew she woke.

She sat straight up and then looked around wildly, until her eyes, in the dark, landed on Jaime's form. She shuddered out a sob and turned away.

Fuck that, Jaime thought. Not anymore. Never again. He wondered how long she'd had such nightmares and knew it had to be constant. He might not be able to stop them, but she wouldn’t suffer alone.

"No," he said and dragged her into his arms, running a hand down her back and pressing soft kisses to her head. She sobbed into his chest, and his heart tore open for him.

"Shhhh love, I've got you. I'm never leaving, Sansa. Never. You'll never be alone again," he repeated until she finally collapsed, wrung dry and limp against him.

She pressed herself closer to him. After a time, he heard her sigh and then, "I'm sorry."

"Fuck that," he growled, and she pushed away a bit. He cupped her cheek. "Don't apologize for surviving what he did to you. Ever. Not to me. Not to anyone."

She looked at him in wonder. He met her gaze and then surged upwards and captured her lips in a searing kiss. He couldn't help it. She moved him in a way no other woman had, and he wanted her to know that not all men were bastards like Ramsay Bolton.

"Jaime," she breathed into his mouth.

He kept kissing her; along her neck, her ear, a funny little spot on her shoulder.

"Can I touch you?" he asked in the dark, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"Yes."

He moaned and let his hand wander down her body until he was cupping her breasts through her shift, playing with her hard little peaks and feeling her moan into his mouth.

"I want to give you pleasure, with my hand, Sansa. Only my hand. You don't even have to take anything off. I need you to know it can be good," he was saying.

She paused in kissing him, and then said, "Alright."

He felt like a hero at that moment. "Such a good little wolf," he all but crooned to her and let his hand stroke her, building the heat and desire in her, until he felt a tiny arch. When he got to her legs, he touched her in a way that she eventually opened herself and let him in, where he found her wet and warm.

"Gods, what you do to me," he said. "You're so perfect." He'd kept his mouth near hers, repeating over and over again how strong she was. "Hold on to me, Sansa." He stroked her softly, pressing his hand against the bundle of nerves above her entrance and rubbing, sucking on her neck and making her squirm, making her writhe until she shattered beneath him, screaming his name.

When her breathing slowed, she opened her eyes. He hadn't even been inside her. "What was that?"

He grinned. He couldn't help it. She might not be a maiden, but she was so innocent.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "That, my dear wife, is what it is supposed to feel like."

She blushed. "Even when we couple?"

He laughed softly and kissed her again. "Especially when we couple."

Her eyes were impossibly wide. "I never knew."

He felt a surge of pride that he was the man that would show her how good it could be.

"Come now, little wolf. Time to sleep. I'm sure you woke more than one person up, screaming my name."

Her face went red, and he let out a little chuckle as he kissed her again and situated her in his arms. When she was comfortable and sleepy once again, she heard her voice. "I think I might like being married this time."

He felt his entire body warm. "I think I'll like it as well, little wolf."

"Goodnight, husband."

"Goodnight, wife."


	11. Chapter 11

The most incredible thing about being married was the fact that there was now someone to comfort her. Sansa couldn't remembered the last time she had woken up, feeling safe and secure. She snuggled deeper into Jaime's embrace, liking how his strong arms banded around her, keeping her close. She had moved in the night, so her face was pressed into his chest, and she inhaled his scent. She loved what he smelled like, and the little rumble that came from his chest. His very hard, very masculine chest. She all but rubbed her face against him until she felt him laugh and she blushed but didn't stop.

"I like what you smell like," she told him, determined to not be shy with him. Not after what he'd made her feel last night, and how she'd all but screamed his name, so the whole castle probably heard her. He said it would feel like that when they coupled, and she could scarce believe him even though she desperately wanted to. She wanted to be a true wife to him; she wanted the chance at children. And she realized, she wanted a chance at love. She thought that with Jaime, she might get all three.

"Good morning, little wolf," came his raspy, rumbling voice in her ear.

She looked up and smiled at him, once again drawing in a breath that such a handsome face belonged to her husband. His eyes were bright green in the soft morning light, his skin almost golden in hue and his hair artfully tousled. She reached up a hand to let her fingers play with the golden strands.

"You're so handsome," she all but murmured to himself and felt him lean down to kiss her neck.

"That's my line, wife. My beautiful, adoring wife." He kissed her ear and tugged a bit, and Sansa felt that same jolt of lust bolt through her body as she had last night. She wiggled a bit, trying to find the friction needed until Jaime's hand went lower.

"Can I touch you, Sansa? Can I watch you fall apart again?"

She adored how he asked.

"Please."

He grinned and caught her lips with his and then let his hand find that particular spot, rubbing at her as she bucked into him, seeking more contact. When she broke apart this time, his mouth was there to capture her cries, and she panted against him.

"You're amazing, Sansa," he told her, every word true. The fact that she was able to find her pleasure after what she had been through stunned and amazed and humbled him. He wanted to be a husband worthy of her.

"It just … I never knew." She was grinning, and he could see her happiness. He wiggled an eyebrow.

"There are so many things I cannot wait to teach you, Sansa, when you are ready. But just know that you were built for passion."

Tears came to her eyes, and he looked worried until she cupped his cheek. "I've wanted children, and I was so afraid I would never be able to lay with a man again to have them. But now, I know." She kissed him again and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing him closer to her.

Eventually, they broke apart, both of them breathing hard. Jaime knew it was still too soon, so as much as it pained him, and his cock had been hard for hours now, he stopped.

She blushed as he watched her exit the bed, and he thought she was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. He was there to help her with her gown, she with his doublet. When he tried to slide the cloth over the stump, she was there, and like last night, she pressed a kiss to it again.

"You're so brave," she murmured and then helped him with the golden hand.

He would never grow tired of her compassion, that he knew and pressed a kiss to her head in thanks. She made him feel proud instead of ashamed.

He thought back when he'd refused his father's plea for him to take the Rock when Joff and Cersei and Tyrion had all been in King’s Landing. Tywin had been incensed and gave him the sword he'd eventually given to Brienne, telling him that a one-handed knight needed all the help he could get. He wondered if his father had been trying to tell him what a helpmate a wife could be; how they could make you feel like you could conquer anything, and that they chased away the loneliness. Jaime had always thought he'd had what his father and his mother had with Cersei, but barely a day married, and he realized that it paled to being committed to Sansa. He had such a longing for his father at that moment, the cold bastard that he was, that it almost brought him to his knees, but Sansa was there, and she gazed at him with a soft smile, and the feeling diminished.

She frowned at his lack of clothing. "That won't do," she was muttering, and even though he protested, he knew that she would be on a mission to make things for him. He brushed a hand over some of the marks he'd left on her pale skin with her mouth, and she turned bright red but looked almost proud. She looked like her husband had taken his rights with her, and having found her pleasure, she was loose and relaxed. No one would know what happened between them if she didn't want, and that had to mean they would be safe from the Dragon Queen this morning.

They entered the great hall to break their fast, holding hands. Jaime found he loved the gesture and even more so now that Sansa was his wife. He pulled her to a table in the common area; he did not need them to be on display like they were last night. Jaime knew her place, but now she was also his wife. And he wanted her as far away from that silver-haired bitch as possible.

All eyes were on them, and it wasn't long until the swell of gossip started; most noting what they looked like and Sansa's neck. She'd chosen her gown deliberately; she would not hide what her husband made her feel.

Lord Royce was the first over. Jaime stood up straighter, feeling like a father was inspecting his daughter for any signs of ill-treatment. In a way, it warmed Jaime's heart that the Vale knight loved his wife so much. Sansa hugged him and gave him a warm smile, thanking him for standing up for them and coming to the wedding. He gave Jaime a slight nod, as if to say he would do, and then went to find his other knights, casting a wide berth around the head table.

Arya arched an eyebrow at her and scurried over, pressing a hug and whispering in her ear.

"Good?"

Sansa grinned. "So good."

Arya saw the satisfied look on her sister's face and grinned. They would have to discuss in more detail later, but for now, the golden lion would live. She shot him a look and nodded, and he grinned. Jaime hauled Sansa closer, nuzzling at her in front of the entire hall. He didn't give a fuck what anyone thought. She was his wife, and he'd touch her any way he pleased as long as she allowed it. Arya sat, laughing with both of them.

"Enough," came Sandor's low growl, but he also had a smile for them both. He came to sit beside them, on the other side of Arya. He'd known the two of them for an age; knew the shit they'd been through and was happy for them. Of course, he also thought they were all going to die, but even if all they had the next few weeks, it was more than most.

"Hound be happy for us," Jaime said, grinning. Sandor grunted and shook his head. The Golden Lion of Lannister was back. Only this time, he had the right woman at his side.

Tyrion was next over, and Jaime was pleased to see that he didn't have a goblet of wine. He tucked into his meal, delighted to see the two of them looking happy and comfortable with one another.

"Sister," he said to Sansa and gave her a big broad smile.

Arya paled.

"Fuck me, that makes you both my brothers." Her face soured, and they all roared in laughter. No one mentioned what it made Cersei.

Theon sidled up and grabbed a spot on the other side of Sansa, clearly checking her over. She laid a gentle hand on his arm and gave him a look, and he lost his irritated look and instead started speaking with them. He especially liked discussing tactics with Arya and Sandor. They argued fiercely, called each other names and then challenged each other to constant fights. It was the best fun that Theon had in an age.

Brienne came and took a seat at their table, stiffly but trying. Both Sansa and Jaime ached for her in their way. Sansa laid her hand over Brienne's, and she gave her a stiff nod. She'd only ever wanted Sansa's happiness and safety. Brienne knew that Jaime would guarantee both as long as he lived. Brienne had seen Sansa right after she had escaped Ramsay and it was hardly the same woman who sat beside her husband today.

They were eating and laughing when a sudden silence descended over the table.

"Lord and Lady Lannister," came the Queen's voice. She was leaving the hall and stopped to speak with them. Dany took note of how Jaime kept Sansa close, touching her in the way that a lover did. As she got closer, she saw the marks on the pale skin of Sansa and was pleased they had complied with her orders.

"Your Grace," they murmured as one, both wondering what she might want.

"I am pleased to see such a happy marriage. Even though it was your duty, we are all fools for love."

Sansa grimaced. Was she trying to be their friend? After what she had ordered them to do? It was sheer, dumb luck that Jaime was the man he was. For all the Dragon Queen knew, he could have been as bad as Ramsay.

Sansa seethed but said nothing, until Jon arrived at the table.

"Dany," he said in that low, Northern voice of his. They all watched as she turned and smiled at him, reaching out to cup his cheek. He moved slightly, so her hand only grazed his face. Dany frowned and looked hurt, but Jon couldn't care. He had more urgent matters than trying to make her happy.

"Sansa, Jaime. We've word from Last Hearth." He looked grim. The happy atmosphere disappeared, and they all felt the food settle heavy in their stomachs. "Gather everyone. War council in an hour." Then Jon turned and strode away. He needed to find Bran.

His little brother was in the godswood when Jon came upon him, lost in his head. He struggled mightily to understand what Bran was. Jon had seen more than most; giants, white walkers, the Night King. And yet, to try to believe that his brother was now the most powerful greenseer in Westeros still puzzled him. He didn't know what to say to Bran, or how to say it. So as had been his custom, he'd done nothing. Yesterday, Theon had proven how remarkably craven his behaviour had been and that had stung. Jon had prided himself on his honour. Hell, he had all but abandoned his mission with the Wildlings when he refused to kill the innocent farmer and his son to prove that he was one of them. There was something about his Aunt that fucked with his brain, and he hated her all the more for it.

Jon knew that something had fundamentally changed inside him when he had died. He could speak with no one of it, for there wasn't another person alive that had come back from the dead. Then his head snapped up. Beric Dondarrion. He'd heard Sandor say that he had died several times. And he knew the fire worshiper was here somewhere in the castle. Jon vowed he'd seek the man out and talk with him.

Jon had been distrustful of everyone since his return; with good reason he figured, but it hadn't been until he'd unburdened himself to Sansa and Arya that he realized his family would never betray him. That the pack was stronger together. He might not have the Stark name, but he still had Stark blood. Ned had always said the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Jon was ashamed to say he'd forgotten that. Thank the gods for his sisters. Jon hadn't even realized he'd been lost in his head, standing in front of Bran, until his brother coughed, and Jon saw an amused little smile on his face.

"Jon."

"Bran."

"She'll be happy. Jaime is good for her."

Jon grunted. He hated how Bran seemed to know things, and he didn't understand it at all.

"If he hurts her…"

"He won't."

Jon's shoulders slumped. He knew it. Knew that Jaime was half in love with her already and would most likely be worshiping the ground she walked on within days. His room was adjacent to Sansa's; he'd heard her cries of pleasure, and knowing what she had been through, he'd been shocked that the man could make her feel in such a manner. He'd wanted to pound someone when he had to listen to that. Too often it had been her screams and cries of terror, and if given a choice, he'd always choose for her to be happy. Still, it ate at something that it wasn't him; that it would never be him to make Sansa happy.

"I'm sorry," came Bran's voice. "For how that hurts you."

Jon heaved out a sigh. "Bran, I don't know what the fuck you are. How do I talk to you?"

Bran's face was a mask of confusion. "I am the three-eyed-raven."

Jon huffed out another sigh of frustration. "But what does that mean?"

Bran almost smiled then. Sansa had expressed the same exasperation in him as Jon was. For a moment, Bran thought of Meera Reed. He wondered how she was, and why she'd gone back to Greywater Watch. If she had stayed, perhaps she would be able to tell them what he had been through. It was so hard to talk with people; there was so much crowding his brain and so many possibilities. And so much riding on this upcoming battle.

"You should summon Meera Reed here, after the battle. She will help," Bran said by way of answer.

Jon nodded. "You are needed inside."

Bran cocked his head. "They have taken Last Hearth. They will be here within days."

Jon's grimace got more pronounced. "We don't even know how to kill him," Jon all but muttered, pushing his brother into the castle.

* * *

Jaime watched in amusement as his wife, puttered around their rooms, muttering to herself and cursing the Dragon Queen under her breath. He was delighted by her as he lounged in a chair by the fire. Few things in life caused Jaime to become upset, and watching his wife work herself up, was not one of them. If anything, he found it highly entertaining. Finally, when he figured she'd stewed enough, he reached out, fast as could be and pulled her onto his lap. He nuzzled at her neck and cupped her breasts, feeling the nipple pebble into a hardened little peak. She moaned into him, pressing her hands against his chest and tilting her head so that she could kiss his lips.

"I'm going to touch you, wife," he said, and she nodded her agreement.

Jaime slid his hand up her dress and found the slit in her underclothes. "Don't tense up on me, love. I'm just going to stroke you, like a cat," he whispered to her, keeping his eyes on hers. She nodded again, and he dipped a single finger into her core, delighted to find her wet and warm. He stroked her gently, as his thumb found the tiny nub of nerves and she writhed on his lap.

"Oh, my little wolf, you're so beautiful," he crooned to her, and she huffed as she rode his finger to her peak.

"Jaime," she cried his name into the room, and he grinned.

"I could do that all day long, Sansa."

She had no idea how he had become so vital to her, or how he had managed to make her crave the pleasure that only he seemed to be able to give her, but he turned her brain to mush. She collapsed against his chest and cuddled closer.

"I like this," she said contentedly, and he chuckled.

"You needed the distraction before you went out of your head, love." She stilled and raised her eyes to him.

"Love?"

Jaime's green eyes widened, and then he cocked his head. "I think so, Sansa. At least that is the road I am on. Are you?"

She nodded and felt the tears fill her eyes. She carded her hands through Jaime's hair and pressed her lips to his. "I have such feelings for you, husband."

He felt something warm in him, all the way down to his soul as if this woman had been made for him and him alone. He knew now what had been driving him here; it wasn't the army of the dead but Sansa. She was always meant to be his.

"I want to see you at Casterly Rock. Even if we never live there, I want you to see it. I want to sleep with you in my arms, as the waves crash outside our door. I want to stand with you and watch the sunset," Jaime said suddenly, brushing her gorgeous hair back from her face. She was flushed and radiant, and he'd never had anything so pure in his arms. Ever.

"I'd love that," Sansa whispered. Then her eyes filled with tears. "I don't want us to die, Jaime." She sobbed into his neck, and he held her tightly. "Not when I just got you. It wouldn't be fair, to give us each other, to have death snatch it away."

He felt the same way but had to be strong for her. "I'll do whatever I can to keep you safe and alive, Sansa. That is my vow."

"I know."

Eventually, they rose, and hand in hand made their way to the War Council. A week ago, it had been secret touches and stolen glances, and today she all but wanted to crawl into his skin. He was hers, and she would keep him by her side for as long as possible. They were the last to enter, and all eyes were on them as they took their place. She felt him rest his hand at her back, standing beside her and Arya.

His hand reached hers when Jon said that Last Hearth had fallen. It was two weeks ride from Winterfell, but this army of the dead seemed to be moving at an unnatural pace.

"We've had word from some of the Wildlings and the Crows that survived the collapse of the Wall. The army of the dead marches past Last Hearth. They are moving fast. They'll be here in five days. Or less."

Silence dominated the room.

"Do we know what they want?" Tyrion asked, frustrated and scared. He had half a mind to send ravens to the whole Kingdom, announcing Sansa and Jaime's marriage and getting them to Casterly Rock with the remaining Lannister forces. He was sure that some would abandon Cersei if they knew that Jaime had finally taken his rightful place. But one look at his brother and his new wife, and he knew neither would consent to leave. They were such noble fools, he thought affectionately. It was why everyone would love them.

"No," Jon said when Bran said, "Me."

All eyes swung his way as he explained the Night King was coming for him; he was the living memory and the future of the seven kingdoms.

Theon stepped forward, stating the Ironborn would protect him.

"It's not enough," Jaime said, and reached for the map, moving some of the top Unsullied into the godswood to protect Bran Stark.

Sandor also said he'd be there, along with Arya. And the Knights of the Vale. Everyone understood that the most critical battle would happen in the godswood.

"The dragons? Will they fight?"

Daenerys met Jaime's gaze and gave a jerky nod. "They will."

"Good. They must burn as many that have fallen as possible. And they must destroy the other dragon. It is the only way we might survive."

Dany's face soured at the order, even though she knew it to be true.

"And the women and children?" someone asked.

"In the crypts," Jon responded. "They'll be safe there. Away from the fighting."

Jaime looked incredulous. He waited for someone, anyone to speak up. When no one did, he barked out a laugh.

"For fuck sakes, you can't be serious."

All eyes turned to him. They looked puzzled and confused. He dropped his wife's hand to scrub it down his face. "You claim this Night King can raise the dead and you want the women and children to hide in the crypts. Where the dead are buried? Waiting for my wife's dead father to rise and kill her? She won't fucking be there."

Jaime felt his anger build. Gods, just when he thought they might have a chance, they stunned him with their stupidity. Shocked, then horrified looks marred their faces.

Jon just about wanted to vomit thinking about what a disaster that might have been.

Sansa looked at Jaime, stunned happiness on her face. She had never had someone defend her and worry for her safety so vehemently. She felt her heart beat faster, watching him command the room, demanding they be smarter than this Night King. She was proud he was her husband, and so very pleased.

"Send them south," Jaime pleaded. "At least to Greywater Watch. As many as we can. Send them south. They'll have five days lead on the Night King."

"And into your sister's hands? No. Do not think we do not see your plan, Ser Jaime," Dany sneered.

He snarled in frustration. "Women and children. They are no good to Cersei."

"They'd be hostages if she ever got her hands on them."

"Has she made a single move North? It takes a month, at best, to get here. Has she left the Red Keep?" Jaime was desperate, thinking about how much cleaner this would be if the castle emptied of those who couldn't fight. And if Sansa was away from here and safer. But it did no good. His pleas fell on deaf ears, and he stalked out of the War Council, seething with anger and fear.

His wife found him hacking at a training dummy an hour later, the dark had fallen and snow was on his head. She stood back and watched for a time until he finally turned.

"You won't leave, will you?"

She shook her head, and he snarled and stalked through the muddy yard. She watched as he looked like a caged lion, growly and angry and with something in his paw. He turned back to her. "What if I tell you I can't fight, worried about you. That I'm useless if you're here in harm's way and I have to think about your safety."

She smiled softly at him, wondering at how much they'd come to care for each other in such a short time.

"Why do you presume I want to live in a world without you in it?"

Jaime stopped and stared at her. Then his eyes narrowed. He stalked towards her and hauled her into his arms and kissed her. Not softly. Not gently. But as if he were starved for her and she was his meal.

When they broke apart, they were both panting.

"Sansa, I can't even imagine what I might do if something happens to you," he cried almost desperately.

"And neither can I, Jaime. Yet, here we are. This is our fate. And we'll meet it together."

"Fuck, Sansa, I love you," Jaime whispered against her lips.

"And I love you, Jaime Lannister. And whatever is coming for us, we'll meet it together."

Their eyes met and held, disbelief warring with love. Neither had thought this would ever be possible and yet; they knew it to be true.

"I don't want to be in the Great Hall tonight, Sansa."

"Then it's a good thing I've asked for our dinner in our rooms. Come, my lion. Let us take care of each other, for as long as we have," Sansa said. She took his hand, leading him out of the cold and into the warmth of the castle and her love.


	12. Chapter 12

The moment they got to their chambers, Sansa bolted the door and turned to her husband. She wanted him. She was scared he would die, and she'd never feel everything she wanted to with him. She was nervous, but she was ready. They loved each other.

"Sansa," Jaime said, breathing her name, looking at her like she was everything.

"I want you. In every way, a wife wants a husband, Jaime." Her blue eyes were full and round, and he could see the truth there. Nerves, excitement, desire. Love. So much love for him.

He nodded and cupped her head, bringing her close to him. He kissed her now, softer but no less needy than it had been in the yard. She loved him. Him. Jaime. And she wanted to lie with him. Perhaps a better man would wait; he knew their emotions were heightened. They were on the cusp of death, and it could be driving this. But he wasn't a better man. He was a man in love with his wife, and he wanted her as well. And he wanted her to know it could be pleasurable, being together, coupling.

"Anything we do, if there is something you don't like, you tell me, little wolf," he said, cupping her chin so her eyes could meet his. She nodded, and he walked them to the bed. He went to blow out the candles and she stilled him and shook her head.

He arched a questioning eyebrow at her. She looked nervous but pushed on.

"I want you to see. I need you to see it. I'll understand if you don't want me afterwards, but I need it…"

For fuck sakes, Jaime thought, completely undone by her and her bravery. He could kill the Night King himself and save Westeros, and he'd still never deserve her. She was too good for him.

"Never."

She started to protest, and he kissed her.

"Never, Sansa. There is nothing, nothing he has done to you that will make me turn away."

She felt the tears come, and she nodded. She saw the sincerity in his eyes and gave all her trust over to him. He hadn't seen it so he couldn't know. But maybe, just maybe, he loved her enough to look past those marks. He turned her then and started to do the stays and laces of her dress, pushing it down, so she stood in her shift. He kissed her neck, brushing her hair aside and reached his one hand around to cup her breast, playing with the nipple. She liked that and arched back into him.

"Jaime," she said, moaning his name.

"Gods, you have no idea what you do to me, when you say my name like that, Sansa."

She grinned and felt the evidence of his arousal pressing against her arse. It gave her a feeling of power to have a man like Jaime wanted her so much.

"I'm going to undress you, now, Sansa," he told her, keeping his voice low and soothing, feeling her tense. He kept up a litany of praises and kisses. "Easy, little wolf. I love you, remember that."

She forced herself to relax as he pulled it off her, baring her back to him for the first time. Silence.

She swallowed down the lump in her throat and then turned, willing to tears to stay at bay. She knew it would be too much for him. She'd had maids retch at the sight of her mangled flesh. She turned her head to meet her fate and saw her husband's face at war. He looked ready to murder everyone, and at the same time, he was looking at her with love, devotion and desire. And no pity. Just like she was someone to be admired. She watched as his hand reached out to gently trace a thin blade mark.

"If he were alive, I'd strip every single inch of his flesh from his body for causing you a single moment of pain," Jaime muttered. Then he leaned down to kiss the mark, pressing his lips against them.

"My wolf, so strong, so brave," he was saying as he worked his way down her back, stopping at each one, kissing her and touching them. Bites, burns, gouges. He didn't miss a single one until she was overwhelmed by his love for her.

"Jaime," she sobbed his name until he turned her and cupped her face. He stroked her cheek and pressed his forehead to hers.

"I've never…" he swallowed hard. "No one is as strong as you, my love. No one. What you survived."

She kissed him. "Love me."

"Forever, my love. Forever, and ever, Sansa."

She saw the truth in his words as he lifted her and placed her on the furs of their bed. He made quick work of his clothing until he had on only a slight shift and underclothes. He wanted her panting before he was naked in front of her, thinking that would make her more comfortable. His wife had other plans. Her hands gripped at his clothing until he shucked it off, and he was as naked as she was.

She grinned and ran her hands over the hard muscles of his chest. He was lean and fit and strong and hers. She leaned up to nip and suck at him, and he was delighted with her eagerness.

When he finally pulled his eyes from hers, he looked down, relieved that the bastard had at least left her breasts alone. He'd heard of men who'd maimed women to the point where their babes could not even feed, and he knew that would destroy his wife. He bent his head and took a peak in his mouth, tugging and sucking on her, and she let out a long, loud moan and cupped his neck to keep him there. He would have grinned, but he was enjoying himself to much.

He pushed her back down onto the bed and worked his way down her body.

"Let me love you, wife," he told her, and her eyes widened. He stroked his hand through her core, finding her wet and willing, but he had other plans. The marks started again, just below her breasts and he was determined to kiss them all. They crisscrossed the soft, white flesh of her stomach, and carried on to her thighs. When he got lower, she clamped her legs together.

"Sansa, love, what is it?" he asked. He'd touched her there before and knew she was enjoying herself.

She sat up and met his eyes.

"He did something there."

Jaime felt anger like he'd never once before in his entire life.

She swallowed and whispered, "He said he'd mark me in a way that no man would ever want to be there again. That no matter what happened to him, he'd always be a part of me. That no man would ever want me when they saw what he had done."

White, hot rage coursed through Jaime's blood. He tried to calm himself. "Trust me, love. Please." He knew that no matter what that fucker had done to her, he would always want her.

She gave a slight nod and opened her legs, and Jaime bent down. And saw. He felt the tears come to his eyes for what he had put her through.

He'd carved his initials into the top of her fleshy thigh. Jaime leaned down and kissed the marks and Sansa sobbed.

"I love you, Sansa. For all my days. And nothing," he said, kissing the mark again, "Nothing will ever change that."

He raised his face to hers and saw her nod.

"Now, my love, let me taste you."

He watched as her eyes widened and then her face reddened before he dipped down and feasted on her, bringing her to such a peak that she clamped her thighs around his head and ground against his face. He loved every moment of it. She was the best thing he'd ever tasted, and he grinned when he finally made his way up to her lips again.

"You are perfect," he told her, and she blushed.

"Jaime, I'm not," she said, shaking her head at him and his antics and how he was making this fun and sweet and yes, perfect.

He'd settled his weight over her, nudging her with his member at her entrance, making sure she was ready.

"Last chance, love. We don't have to do anything more," he said, tone serious again.

She reached up and angled her hips, bringing him closer to her. "Make me your wife, Jaime."

He grinned and kissed her and worked himself inside her slowly and carefully until he was fully seated, and she huffed out a little breath and let out a low sound.

"Oh," she said, her eyes impossibly wide as he started to move. He was grinning like a fool as he watched the pleasure run across her face. She moved with him, and she panted, and she clutched at him.

"Oh, gods, that feels… good."

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck and then sucked on her ear.

"Wait until you peak with me in you, little wolf," he told her, and she bucked again.

He increased his pace and then angled himself so his hand could find her little knot of nerves and he rubbed her as he stroked in and out until all that could be heard were their grunts and pants until she tightened on him and screamed his name and Jaime emptied himself deep inside her. He all but collapsed on top of her, and she welcomed his weight, murmuring how much she loved him and cuddling him closer, running her hands up and down his back.

When he'd gained enough of his equilibrium back, he kissed her lips and smiled at her.

"Thank you," she told him, and he nodded.

"For all our days, Sansa."

She smiled. "For all our days."

When he finally pulled out of her, he found a cloth and warmed it before he cleaned her. He liked to see evidence of their passion and felt his cock rally. He pushed those thoughts aside and watched as she pulled on one of his tunics and nothing else. He was comfortable naked and drew her onto his lap as they sat and fed each other bites of dinner. He sucked on her fingers, and she laughed and told him he was ridiculous, but saw the happiness in his face. When she spilled a bit of wine, he licked it off her chin, and her eyes gleamed wickedly.

She took her goblet and dumped a little out on his chest and then leaned down and licked it up, squirming in his lap.

He hissed out a breath. "Seven fucking hells, Sansa, if you keep that up, I'm going to take you back to bed."

She gave him one, last, long lick and said, "Yes, please."

He stood, growled and carried her to the bed where he threw her down gently and pounced on her as she giggled. Then she saw the gleam in his eyes. He kissed her hard and flipped them, pulling off his tunic that she was wearing and sitting her on his lap. Her eyes widened.

"Ride me," he said, grin cocky and full and green eyes dancing.

Hers narrowed. She could see he thought she wouldn't, so she wiggled a bit until she felt his hard cock and lifted herself to sink into him.

"Gods woman," he groaned, as she grinned. Then he moved, and her eyes flew wider.

"Ride me, my little wolf," he told her again as she began to move. He helped her, positioning her so they both moaned at the feeling. It was sort of like riding a horse. But better. And she was in complete control and could watch him. She'd never had anyone look at her like he was. Her scars were on full display, and he didn't seem to care at all, just praised her, and stroked her and leaned up to kiss her, until she was a mess and begging him for release again. When he finally gave it to her, she didn't care who heard her scream his name. She was done. She felt him pump again inside her before he grunted his release as well. Sansa all but collapsed on top of him and was licking lazily as his sweaty skin.

"God, I love you," he whispered into her ear, and she grinned, but kept her eyes half-closed. Eventually, he moved and cleaned her and their dinner up, blowing out the candles. When he came back to the bed, he got them both under the warm furs and nestled her into his side.

"I love you, Jaime. Tonight, was magical," she told him sleepily, and she heard his soft chuckle and agreement. She had no idea being a wife could be like this, and she prayed hard that they would have years to come, just like tonight.

The next morning Sansa woke to Jaime's mouth on her core, and barely had a chance to catch her breath before she peaked and then he was insider her.

"Good girl," he told her, kissing her awake as her eyes met his. The green was bright and merry as if there was nowhere else he wanted to be. He took her slowly, building her pleasure again until they both moaned and toppled once more. She felt languid and soft and deliciously sore until someone pounded at their door.

Jaime groaned and dragged the covers over them and yelled enter.

Sansa was scandalized.

"What are you doing?" she hissed. She was naked and could feel his spendings leaking out of her.

He kissed her neck. "Sansa, if the whole castle doesn't know what we've been up to, then I'd be shocked. It's most likely your sister."

She burrowed deeper as he laughed at her.

"Hateful man," she muttered to him as Arya strode in.

Jaime shot her a wide grin. She rolled her eyes at him and arched an eyebrow.

"Your sister is indisposed," he said smoothly, still smiling.

Arya reached out and grabbed Sansa's foot through the furs and Sansa shrieked and sat up.

Arya's smile widened as Sansa's naked breasts bounced. "Never knew you were a screamer, sweet sister. Good thing you're married." Arya winked, and Sansa's face went red. Jaime took pity on her and drew up a fur to cover her, laughing softly.

Then Arya's face got tight. "Men from the Wall and Last Hearth were spotted. They'll be here within hours."

Just like that, reality crashed back down to Jaime and Sansa. They had stolen a night, but the threat still was there.

"I'm sorry," Arya said, meaning every word. She wanted nothing more than for her sister to have time with her husband. A husband whom clearly loved her, and whom she loved as well. Sansa deserved that. Arya saw how he looked at her and knew that the man was devoted to her. She'd told Sansa that if Jaime didn't love her, scars and all, that he wasn't worth it, but she could see that wasn't ever going to be an issue. He was looking at Sansa as if she were everything.

Arya slipped out as Jaime drew his wife into his arms. He could feel her heartbreak and terror, and they dressed slowly, both reluctant to leave their room where they had found such joy with one another. They entered the Great Hall to the grimmest mood yet. They agreed that the women and children would be housed here, with the ways in and out blocked off. Tyrion and Varys would be with Sansa, and Jaime was planning on being close. Once he'd coaxed her to eat some food, they made their way to the yard, where they watched a group of thirty or so survivors from Last Hearth and the Wall stumble in. Jon was beside himself seeing his friend Edd and Tormund as Sansa leaned against Jaime. When the redheaded Wilding saw her and her new husband, his eyebrows rose. He stalked over to them and then leaned down.

"Is he good to you?"

She couldn't help but grin and nod.

"Good." Then his eyes turned to Jaime. He knew that this was the man the big woman loved. But watching Jaime with Sansa, Tormund also knew that he was in love with Jon's sister. "Gingers are the rarest of all. We are kissed by fire. If you fuck with her, I'll cut your dick off." Tormund liked the word that the dog had given him.

"For fuck sakes, don't you think we've already threatened him," came Sandor's raspy growl.

Tormund's eyes lit up. "Hound!" he cried and threw himself against the big man, who rolled his eyes.

"Crazy fucker," they heard Sandor mutter but knew he was happy to see the Wildling.

When he was finished with Sandor, he turned back to Jaime. "So, the big woman… she's free?" His eyes were expectant and hopeful.

Jaime laughed and nodded and wished him luck.

He looked insulted. "I don't need luck. I've got a big dick." Then he stalked off to find her.

Sansa looked stunned. Jaime swooped in and kissed her. "He's something," he said to her, and she shook her head, hoping Brienne was prepared.

Word spread that the army was on the move and that they would be here by nightfall. Sansa felt like she had been waiting her entire life for this moment to come, and yet, now that it was almost upon them, she wanted nothing more than to slow time. There was one more strategy sessions, where she stood numb, beside her husband until he finally took her away and back to their rooms. That night he made her peak again and again until Sansa finally sobbed for him to stop. He was relentless, and she knew it was because they were both fearful. When she saw his face, she asked what he needed.

He shook his head, and she forced it from him. "Jaime, tell me."

"I think I'd like to find Tyrion," he said softly, and she nodded, and they dressed. There was a group of them drinking in the hall. Theon, Davos, Pod, Brienne, Tyrion and Tormund.

When they walked in, Tormund slapped Jaime's back. "The sister fucker."

Sansa heaved out a sigh. "Tormund can you please not call my husband by that vile name."

The man frowned. "But he's fucking Jon Snow's sister."

Everyone laughed, and Sansa blushed as Jaime sat and placed her on his lap. He and Tyrion locked eyes and nodded at one another.

"I can't imagine what our father would say. Us all here, fighting for the Starks."

Sansa snorted. "Serves him right," she all but muttered, and Jaime smiled and laughed softly.

When talk turned to Brienne and becoming a knight, Jaime gave Sansa a look, and she kissed him. "You're a good man." Sansa watched as her husband knighted the large woman, Tormund clapping loudly and whistling, Brienne colouring. Sansa knew she still had feelings for her husband, but at that moment, she saw Jaime Lannister as he should have always been; the good man, the golden knight and a man with honour.

When he came back to her arms, she snuggled in tighter. "I love you," she told him, quietly. “And I love you, little wolf,” Jaime said.

Other's heard and saw. Jaime and Sansa didn't realize that they gave them hope; something to fight for. When Jon and Sandor wandered in, the group grew, comfortable with how they had each come to be here at the edge of the world, fighting for their lives.

They laughed and drank, and listened to Pod sing until they heard the war horn blow. The Night King had arrived, and the Long Night was here.


	13. Chapter 13

Everyone reacted at once, and suddenly, the night that had been soft and comforting turned dark and cold and harsh. Theon and Sandor glanced at one another; they had sworn to protect Bran in the godswood and knew they needed to make their way there now. Both looked to Sansa. She was pale, holding her husband's hand.

Sandor reacted first. He hauled her into his arms for a hug, his massive frame dwarfing hers.

"Be safe, Little Brid."

"Don't die. Please, Sandor. Don't," she all but cried into his chest. He rumbled something unintelligible and then stepped back to give Theon his turn.

"I need you to live," she told him cupping his cheek. They had been through so much together.

"I'm where I need to be, Sansa." He pressed a kiss to his forehead. "You saved me, sister." Sansa was sobbing. Then Theon and Sandor were gone, and Jon was there.

He cupped her cheeks. "If I die," he started to say, and Sansa heaved out a sharp sound, "If I die, know that I love you, sister, that I'm proud of you. And that I'm glad I have Stark blood." Then he kissed her forehead and was gone without a backward glance. Sansa thought her chest might crack open from the pain of watching all those she loved walk away from her.

Jaime was by her side in an instant, and she curled into him. "Come, love, let's go have a look. The hall will fill, and I'll bring you back."

She nodded numbly and let herself be led away by him. When they got to the battlements, she had never felt the wind and air so cold. "He's unnatural," she murmured as Arya slipped in to stand beside her.

"He is," Arya agreed.

There were only a few thousand men outside the Castles walls, most having been pulled in at Jaime's request. The Dothraki were there as well, but they would wait, again, per Jaime Lannister's orders. Sansa was proud of her husband and hoped his plan spared lives and helped them win. They all heard the screech of the dragons, and watched, fascination and horror vying for dominance when the ice dragon the Night King rode was spotted.

"Time to go," Jaime said, pulling Sansa away from the Wall. He couldn't fight with her out here; she knew that, and she hugged Arya hard.

"Stay safe and alive, sister."

Arya gave her an enigmatic smile and kissed Sansa goodbye. Then Jaime hurried her into the Great Hall. He'd stashed good men inside, men he trusted, men he hoped would keep his wife safe. He cupped her cheek and pressed his lips against her. "I love you, wife."

She clung to him. "Please, Jaime. Come back."

He nodded once, kissed her again and gave her over to his brother. Tyrion nodded and brought her to his side. "I'm not good for much, but I'll do whatever I can, brother."

Jaime gave a curt bob of his head and then ordered all the doors into the hall sealed.

The hardest moment of his entire life, including watching his daughter die and losing his hand, was walking away from her — the woman who had come to mean everything to him.

Brienne found him and gave him an odd look. "We'll keep them safe, Ser Jaime."

He found he had no voice; the fear was almost crippling. And then there was no time to think as the war was upon them.

Sansa sat in the Great Hall, with Tyrion and others. She remembered another battle, long ago, in King’s Landing and that awful Illyn Payne had been there. She told Tyrion about it, and he looked at her in wonder.

"Gods, how can you love him? After what we did to you?"

She gave Tyrion a soft smile. "He is different from your sister and your nephew."

Tyrion grunted at that. He knew that much to be true. Sansa watched as children cried and women paced, and she knew, then, her role. Her voice started softly until it gained in volume, and a hush fell over the crowd. Others joined, singing hymns and prayers that all those in the North knew.

Tyrion and Varys looked at her in awe. Every person she loved was fighting for their lives, and she was offering comfort to those stuffed in the hall. She wandered through, stroking a child's cheek, or giving a soft smile, her voice never faltering.

Varys leaned in. "She is the Queen this realm needs."

Tyrion met his old friend's eyes and nodded. "She is."

Then both men were lost to her and the comfort she offered. The men outside might be fighting for their survival, but Sansa Lannister kept them all sane. Her strength and grace would be talked about for years, and Tyrion felt the tears come to his eyes. It had been years since he had prayed, but more than anything, he wanted his brother to return to his wife. He wanted to see him have the children he wanted and live with the peace and love this woman brought him. Tyrion wanted it more than he had almost anything else in this lifetime, and as his eyes met Sansa's, she nodded, as if she knew. And all they could do was wait.

Outside the Great Hall, Jaime's strategy was working to a point; they would have been utterly decimated had they met this army on the field. The few men outside the Castle walls held them back with fire and arrows until the dead became too much, and they walked across those that had fallen. The dragons, all three, were battling in the sky, in a way that made Jaime's stomach clench if he had more than seconds to watch. He had no idea how they might unseat the Night King, but that was a job for Dany and Jon. And while they were engaged with him, it meant that they could burn their own that had fallen. And fall they did, despite his well thought out plan. Still, the walls helped, and the dead took longer to storm the castle walls. Jaime could only fight, not think, not worry. Just fight until exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him, to bring him to his knees. But then he thought of his wife and pushed on. He felt that even though he'd only been with her a few times, she might already be with his child. He thought he wanted to see her at the Rock, on the sandy beaches, and hold her in his room there, letting the salt and the sea cleanse them. He fought beside Pod and Brienne as if everything in his life depended upon it, and he cursed his sister for not sending the Lannister Army North. His army, North. They could have used seasoned men to fight, as wilding and farmer fell before the dead.

Then, it was done. Jaime had no idea what had happened, only that the dead fell, which could only mean the Night King himself had been defeated. He didn't give a fuck who had done it; he ran to find Sansa. He got to the Great Hall and saw that the doors had not been breached and felt nothing but relief as he wrenched them open. And then he saw her, standing amongst the people singing and offering comfort and he let out such a sound that all eyes fell to him.

She saw him and started to run until she was in his arms and he was swinging her around, again and again. She was sobbing into his neck, and he was murmuring how much he loved her. They broke apart, eventually, but stayed locked hand in hand as word started to trickle in at what had happened and the cost of the war.

They had been correct that the Night King was after Bran Stark; he survived, surrounded by some of the best fighters that had been at Winterfell. It was Jon who had swung the fateful blow, his Valyrian steel sword pinning the Night King to the Stark weirwood tree where he shattered. Theon had been lost, cut down at the last moment, and Sansa was inconsolable at his death.

Jorah and Lyanna Mormont were also gone; the littlest one had taken down a wight giant and Jorah dying to defend Dany when she had fallen off her dragon and was surrounded. She was near catatonic in her grief. Sandor and Arya had fought side by side, trading insults and japes as they protected Bran. Beric Dondarrion had also fallen, and Jon felt a crushing weight at losing him, along with his brother Edd from the Night's Watch.

Dany's precious Dothraki were decimated, as Jaime had all but predicted, with less than a few hundred remaining, although the Unsullied fared much better, having spent most of their time-fighting inside the Castle walls.

Jon found his sisters and Bran, all alive and hugged them tightly. He felt such a relief when he'd swung that final blow, watching a creature that had haunted his nightmares shatter, taking his unnatural army with him.

He pulled Jaime in for a hug, knowing the man's keen military mind had saved thousands of lives today. The overwhelming sense of fear that had gripped Jon since he'd seen his first White Walker was eking out of his body, and he felt almost dizzy in relief. He sat at a table and watched as Sansa called for ale and food and organized the chaos of the survivors. It would take time to rebuild Winterfell; entire walls had been destroyed, but they lived.

"We'll have a proper feast tomorrow," Sansa said, placing two mugs of ale before her husband and her brother, grinning as Jaime drug her onto his lap.

"Wife," he said, nuzzling into her neck. Jaime was so relieved that they had won, so stunned that he was alive, and that he had this whole future with her, that he pushed back any thoughts of what was next. Right now, he had her, and whether they stayed in Winterfell or went to the Rock, he'd never leave her side.

She smiled and cupped his cheek and kissed him, and even Jon smiled softly at them. He loved her, sure, but he'd been scared for so long, broken beyond repair, that even he knew he'd make a shit husband. His sister deserved the man she was currently wrapped around.

When Jaime pulled her to her feet, she went willingly, blushing as he was openly saying how much he needed her, but not denying him anything. When they got to their rooms, practically running, they bolted the doors and fell upon each other.

"You're alive," she said in wonder, kissing and nipping at him, helping him out of his armour and dragging him to the bed. She had such a need for him and was ready, pushing him down and climbing atop him.

"Let me take care of you, husband," she all but purred, and Jaime grinned. He knew they would have to work through their grief; there were thousands of dead to burn and a whole other war to the south. But for now, he would take his pleasure from his wife. He watched her ride him until she begged him to finish them both, which he willingly did, loving how she screamed his name. She collapsed against him, exhausted and spent, and he kissed her hard and long.

"I love you, Jaime," she said, sleepily into his chest.

"I love you, Sansa."

It took three days to pile the bodies into pyres to burn them. It had been gruelling, backbreaking work to gather the dead and see them off, to honour their sacrifice and each night Jaime gratefully collapsed into the bath that Sansa always had waiting for him until he could crawl into their bed. He had no idea how he would have survived such a horror without her by his side.

Sansa was sobbing over Theon, even as Jaime held her. He risked a glance to Daenerys. She had been found clutching at Ser Jorah, and everyone was worried about the impact his death would have on her. She seemed subdued and isolated, even more than before. Jaime let Sansa walk to light Theon's pyre herself, and then was there when she needed his arms.

"We saved each other," she murmured to him, and he knew that it was as if she'd lost a brother.

That evening there was a huge celebration planned in the Great Hall.

When they entered that evening, they were shown to a place at the head table, even though both would have preferred to sit with their family. Sansa huffed out an impatient breath that Arya never seemed to have to be put on display. Jaime rumbled out a laugh into her ear.

"That's because she's sleeping with Robert's bastard and not a handsome man like me," he purred into her ear. Sansa blushed prettily and stuck out her lip.

"You are quite pretty, husband," she said and batted her eyelashes at him.

He threw his head back and laughed and dragged her onto his lap. He didn't give a fuck about decorum now. She was his wife, and he'd touch her; however, he wanted.

He was leaning down to kiss Sansa when his eyes met Dany's. She was sitting off to the side, by herself, apart from the rest of them. Her gaze narrowed. "You love each other."

Jaime and Sansa stilled and turned. "We do," Jaime said, a slight edge to his voice.

"I had a husband I loved once," was all she said, and they nodded, before standing to find a new spot to sit. Something was unnerving about the silver-haired Queen right now as if she weren't quite all there.

Before they could find Tyrion and Sandor and Pod, they were swept up into a drinking contest with Jon and Tormund. The Wildling was egging on Jon, and Sansa joined in the fun. Jon shot her a cheeky grin, and Jaime had never been happier that his wife loved him than at that moment. Jon Snow, free from his burden of protecting the entire realm from the Night King, was a handsome fucker.

He told Sansa as much when they left them to their drinks.

"Your brother is too handsome," he growled into her ear.

Sansa put a hand on his chest and stopped him. "He's not, you know."

Jaime frowned. "Not what?"

She swallowed and leaned in. "Not my brother. His mother was my Aunt."

Sansa watched as the pieces fell into place in her husband's brain. "Fuck me. That makes him…" Jaime trailed off and met Jon's eyes. The man nodded once at him. Fucking seven hells. They were cousins- not siblings. That meant that Jon's feelings were not the same as Jaime and Cersei's had been. Jaime swallowed hard and looked at his wife. He loved her; more than he had any other. But he had to know.

"Do you wish he was your husband?"

Sansa's brow wrinkled, and she shook her head. "Gods no. He's too broody, and he's… Jon. He's like my brother, even if he's not."

Jaime felt his stomach unclench. Sansa looked at his face and could see how jealous and worried he had been.

"My love, I am yours. Only yours."

Jaime dragged her into his arms, kissing her passionately in front of the whole hall.

He felt a huge hand slap down on him. "Sister fucker, good job," came Tormund's booming voice, not giving a fuck that he'd interrupted them. The wilding leaned down. "Bring me to the big woman. I need to convince her to give me a chance."

Jaime and Sansa laughed as they made their way over to the table with Brienne, Tyrion and Pod. More drinking resumed until Sansa thought they all might float away, and her husband was well and truly drunk. She watched as Dany left, trailing a hand along Jon's back and then as her cousin followed her out of the hall. She hoped he knew what he was doing, but then her attention was back on the people in front of her, who seemed to be playing a drinking game. Sansa had long ago swapped out water for wine, watching in amusement as Tormund tried desperately to get Brienne to pay attention to him.

When Jaime's eyes were almost closed due to sleep and drink, Sansa hauled him to his feet. "Come on, husband, time for bed."

Jaime grinned. "She's such a good wife. Good little wolf," he murmured into her ear, and she rolled her eyes at him, stumbling back to their rooms together, where she helped him strip off his clothing, and he collapsed into the bed. When he crawled in beside her, he hauled her close.

"The rooms spinning tonight, but I want my wife in my arms," he muttered to her and pressed a hand against her stomach. "I hope we have a baby, Sansa."

She felt her heart melt. Jaime was so open with his affection and love for her. "Me too, Jaime."

Then she heard him snoring, and though she knew it would be painful to sleep beside him making such a noise, a part of her loved it. Because it meant that he was alive, and he was hers, and he was safe.


	14. Chapter 14

Jaime woke up feeling like he had spent the better part of his night drinking his way through an entire barrel of ale. When he finally cracked an eye open and groaned, he spotted his wife sitting at the table, scratching away at ravens and humming softly. He grunted, and her eyes found him, amusement dancing in them.

"Ahhh, he is alive," she said in a cheeky tone.

He rolled over and sat up, the sheet covering only his bottoms. He was naked, which he appreciated, but he was sure he hadn't had her last night if his hard cock was any indication. He ran a hand through his hair.

"What the fuck happened last night?" It was a blur at best.

Sansa laughed.

"Well, you were jealous of Jon, got into a drinking contest with Tormund, told Brienne to give the Wilding a chance and then tried to bed your wife but passed out in drunk in her bed."

"Seven fucking hells," he muttered darkly. Brienne might kill him today, and he was in no shape to battle her. And to be so drunk he couldn't even sleep with his beautiful wife. He looked positively devastated at that bit of news.

"A bath, husband," Sansa said, and Jaime stood and gratefully sunk into the warm water. She handed him soap to wash, and a paste for his mouth, which felt like fur was covering in. He dunked his head under, and when he came up, Sansa was there to wash him.

"Let me," she murmured, fascinated by the muscles and scars on his body. He hadn't escaped this life without his marks. He saw her desire and sat back to see what his little wolf would do. She ran the soap and her hands over him, touching all parts. Shoulders, neck, his back. She pushed her hands into the knots she found there, and he groaned and closed his eyes as she worked him over, loosening muscles that had been so tight with fear and dread about what was coming and only now could relax. His eyes were slits as she watched her hands reach down the hard planes of his abdomen, seeing the utter fascination with the definition there.

"You're so different from me," she murmured almost to herself.

He grunted.

Then she dipped her hand lower, and he jerked. He stilled her hand and watched as her eyes flew to his. "You don't have to do anything like this, love. Not if you don't want to."

She nodded. "And if I do?"

He grinned and sat back. "Then I am yours to torture, wife."

She smiled, and it was everything. Gods, he loved her.

She stroked his member, which was harder than he'd ever been. Watching that hand on him, so innocent and unsure was just about his undoing. He let her play until she was driving him out of his mind with need, and he hauled her into the bath with him, ripping off her gown and baring him to her.

Her eyes widened, and he worried for a second that he'd been too forceful. He commanded himself to slow down.

"Alright?"

She nodded and then said breathily. "Good, Jaime. Don't stop."

"Thank fucking gods," he said, sliding his hand up her thighs that she willingly parted and finding her wet and ready.

"Sit on me, little wolf," he told her, and she did, sloshing water over the side of the tub.

"Oh," she said. "The water."

"I don't fucking care about the water, love." He had his hands on her pert little arse and was moving her up and down him, watching as her eyes widened. He was determined she'd focus on only him and knew when she did.

"Jaime," she said and leaned down to kiss him. He groaned and deepened it, the two of them moving together, seeking pleasure from one another. She was all but begging him when he finally reached down and rubbed at her so that she peaked long and hard, drawing his shattering end out. She collapsed on top of him, sighing happily into his neck.

"You're a bad man, Jaime Lannister."

He rumbled out a satisfied breath.

When they finally cleaned up, Sansa looked scandalized at the ruined dress. "Jaime, what will the maids think?"

He kissed her. Hard. "That your husband loves you and can't get enough."

She shook her head, but he was happy to see the small curve of her lips. Entering the Great Hall, Jaime felt like his entire world was in perfect accord. It had been four days since they'd defeated the army of the dead; most of the people he cared for had survived, and he was in love with his wife. He knew that an army would march south to fight with Cersei, but he'd all but pushed that from his head. Reality smashed him in the face when Jon approached them.

"War Council. After we break our fast."

Jaime nodded grimly. Sansa tensed. "Jon, last night. I saw you follow her. What did you discuss."

Jon looked around, but Dany could not be found. He sighed. "She professed her love again. She wants a marriage alliance, Sansa." He looked ill at the thought. He shook his head. "I can't." His eyes were all but pleading with her to help him.

"Did you tell her about who you are?"

Jon shook his head. "No, but there are rumours. Sam claims only those with Targaryen blood can ride a dragon. Varys and Tyrion are too smart. And Howland and Meera Reed are on their way to Winterfell at Bran's request. Our brother claims the truth must come out."

Jon paused and looked at them. "I'm scared about what she might do when she learns that my claim is better than hers."

"Do you want the Iron Throne?"

Jon looked as if he'd be sick and shook his head. "No. Not at all. I want to be in the North. I want to stay at Winterfell." He looked almost wistful. "Or perhaps travel. Go back beyond the Wall, live free for a time."

Sansa clutched his hand. "What about the dragon Jon? Is he yours or hers?"

Jon looked puzzled for a moment and scratched as his beard. They had taken their seats and were huddled together, Jaime pushing food towards his wife. He worried that she never ate.

"I don't rightly know, San," Jon said conversationally. Things had changed so dramatically with him after he'd defeated the Night King. He'd been called the Hero of the Long Night, but more than that, he seemed to be able to breathe again. He didn't look at Jaime's wife with quite the same guilt and longing as he had before. His colossal burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Mine, maybe," he murmured. His dark brown eyes met theirs. "She views them as her children. There was a witch, in Essos, who cursed her. She believes she is barren."

"Then who the fuck will inherit her throne when she dies?" Jaime looked angered and perplexed. His father had driven home the message of legacy over and over again until it beat like a drum in his head. Even he knew that heirs were everything in this world in which they lived. He and Sansa, as much as they loved one another, were also bound by the duty to produce sons or daughters that could inherit the North and the Westerlands. If there were no heirs, what was the point in fighting for a legacy?

Jaime leaned in, speaking lowly. "Does she want to leave it to you? You are hardly any younger than her, and besides, won't you also have to marry and produce heirs?"

Jon looked pained. "I think she sees the error of marrying the two of you." The man swallowed hard and met their gazes. "She mentioned something last night about it being a mistake." They both looked panicked, and Jon waved a hand. "She doesn't know who I am. I'm a threat, but perhaps it could also be used to convince her to meet with Cersei. To bargain," Jon started to say.

Sansa snorted and gave her husband a look. He leaned back and sighed. "My sister will not ever yield. She lost three children and our father and now both her brothers all to sit on that fucking chair. She will never back down." Jaime's eyes found Arya Stark. "And your sister will make sure she is dead before long."

Jon's frown deepened. "Can Arya do that?"

Jaime laughed and then saw the Jon was serious. "You do know what the faceless assassins are, don't you?"

Jon shook his head slightly. He'd heard of them, but he'd been so preoccupied with the Night King, looking back he'd realized how much he'd missed even being back at Winterfell.

"She can be anyone. At any time. She'll never miss her mark, no matter who it is. They are ghosts. The stuff of legend Jon Snow. She killed House Frey. Not a man left alive if they were at the Twins. Killed old Walder's sons and fed them to him in a pie before she poisoned all the rest."

Jon looked queasy when he glanced at Arya.

"She knew about Littlefinger. Knew what he was trying to do. When I pronounced the sentence, it was Arya that swung the knife, Jon."

"Our sister?"

Both Jaime and Sansa nodded. "And now she wants Cersei?"

Jaime gave him a worried look. "My sister is a dead woman, whether by dragon fire or Arya's deadly blade. And the Hound won't let her go alone."

Three sets of eyes turned towards the two of them, sitting together, whispering.

"If only she could kill Cersei and assume her identity long enough to negotiate a surrender with Daenerys," Sansa mused.

Both men looked at her, slight fear and awe in their faces. "It might work," they muttered.

When they entered the War Council, they were missing some key members. Jorah. Lady Mormont. Theon. The Dothraki. But by and large, the vast majority had survived. It was nothing short of a miracle.

"We need to march south. Now," Dany said, her purple eyes shimmering.

Sansa went to protest, but Jon beat her to it.

"No. We need to rest and time to recover. The Northern Army, while it fared better than I hoped, is still weak. You have no more Dothraki."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening to withhold your forces, Jon Snow? You bent the knee. I am the rightful ruler of the seven kingdoms. I will not hide in the North while Cersei Lannister amasses more and more forces in the south."

"What if she can't? What if we can make her lose some of her armies?"

Dany's eyes flashed to Tyrion's.

"How?"

He shrugged. "Declare that Jaime Lannister has married Sansa Stark and is the heir to the Iron Throne through all laws of Westeros. My sister should have never usurped his place. My father's great-grandfather married a Baratheon. By all rights, the throne should belong to Jaime. If we, temporarily, claim he is the rightful heir, many Lannister forces will leave her side."

Dany was vibrating in rage. "Traitor," she all but hissed at her hand.

He rubbed his eyes, tiredly. She was a loathsome woman to deal with these days. "If I were a traitor I'd be plotting behind your back. I'm not. I'm standing in front of your allies and giving you a plan."

"By giving your brother and her my crown," she seethed.

"Temporarily."

"I am the last Targaryen. It is mine by rights," she stated, arrogant and determined. She'd sacrificed so much to be here, and it was almost in her grasp.

"You're not," came a new voice and everyone turned to see Howland Reed enter the room. Jon tensed and shot a gaze to Sansa who shrugged.

Bran's eyes lit with seeing Meera Reed, who was pointedly ignoring him.

"Who are you?"

When he told them who he was and that he had been in the Tower of Joy the day that Ned Stark had found Lyanna, the tension in the room was thick.

"Fuck me," said Tyrion, full comprehension dawning on his face. He looked to Jaime, who nodded and then Varys.

"You're Rhaegar's son."

Dany looked to Jon, stunned. "No, it can't be."

He grimaced.

"He's still a bastard. Even if my brother slept with this Lyanna Stark."

"He's not." Sam. Jon closed his eyes, and the chubby Maester slid a record from the Citadel onto the map. "It's recorded. Rhaegar annulled his marriage to Elia and married Lyanna. Then they had Jon. He's never been a bastard. He's the true heir to the Iron Throne."

Jon felt his world implode. He'd never wanted it, and he knew that the moment it was revealed to Dany, she would react poorly. She was chalk white, her purple eyes darting around the room, seeing only traitors and liars.

"Lies."

Howland Reed shook his head.

"I saw their marriage. They were in love. He never raped her, never kidnapped her."

Dany was frantic. Her entire existence had been predicated on the hard truth that she was the last dragon; that the throne was hers by all rights and laws of Westeros. And now her nephew had a better claim? After everything she had sacrificed, everything she had been through. Her husband, her son. All of it, for…. What?

"No." She looked up and saw nothing but enemies. Even Jon Snow, the second man she thought she had loved. "How long have you known?"

He swallowed hard. "Since I came home. Sam and Bran told me."

"And will you press your claim?"

He said nothing. He didn't know what to do. He didn't want the Iron Throne, but he'd back Tyrion's plan. If they named Jaime the true heir to the throne, then they might save tens of thousands of lives. They might buy time for Arya and Sandor to kill Cersei. They might stop all this madness and finally bring peace to the realm. One look at his Aunt though, and he knew she'd never agree to their plan.

"I want peace, Dany. However, we achieve that. I don't care about the throne, but I do care about how many more innocent people have to die."

She sneered, and her face turned ugly. "It is mine, Jon Snow."

Sansa snorted, and Dany's eyes turned to hers. "It was taken by right of conquest by Robert Baratheon the day that Rheagar was defeated and your father struck down. By any laws of our land, the throne belongs to my husband."

"Your husband, who murdered the rightful king."

Sansa was so tired of the same old argument. She pinched the bridge of her nose, wondering how she might convince everyone that Jaime was honourable and that he had saved half a million people. Before she could say anything, it appeared Jaime had reached his limit as well.

"He wanted to burn King’s Landing to the ground," Jaime roared, fed up with the lies. He smashed his golden hand on the map. "Your father, your mad, crazy father loved to burn people, Your Grace," Jaime sneered at her. He felt his wife's hand on his back and pressed on. This had gone on for too long. "He had caches of wildfire placed around the city. He was muttering for hours; burn them all. Women. Children. Elderly. In their beds. In their homes. He ordered me to bring him my father's head. He loved to watch people burn. He thought he was a fucking dragon, that the wildfire wouldn't harm him. That is your precious father, the king. That is the man I killed- to save King’s Landing. And if I had to do it again, I'd make the same fucking choice."

Dany had paled even further. "No. You are making this up. He would never."

"He did!" Jaime roared. "He burned people alive for fuck sakes. Including my wife's grandfather and uncle. He threatened hands and raped his wife. I was his Kingsgaurd. Open your eyes. He was fucking mad."

She was shaking her head.

"It's all true," came Varys soft voice. Jaime's eyes clashed with the eunuch.

"You knew?"

Varys nodded. "There is very little that went on in King’s Landing that I didn't know. Caches of wildfire beneath the city? Of course. You were a hero. And then Ned Stark walked in and all he saw was the golden Jaime Lannister with his sword wet with blood and a dead King."

Sansa let out a small pained cry. For them all. Jaime dragged her into his arms, holding her tightly.

"Years of fucking madness. War. Hatred. When does it end?" All eyes were on him. Stunned eyes that were trying to comprehend how Jaime had kept this secret all these years. How had he allowed people to speak about him as they had?

"Jaime," Tyrion said, his voice quiet.

"He's a hero," Sansa all but yelled into the room. "He saved the people of King’s Landing and was called Oathbreaker. Tell me how many of you would have done what he did?"

"Shhh, love, enough," Jaime was saying into her ear as she sobbed into his shoulder.

Jon, Sandor, Davos, Royce, Tyrion and Arya had no words. They had always known Jaime Lannister as he had been portrayed. The golden son of Tywin Lannister who had no honour and had killed a King.

His eyes met Dany's. "They asked me who I would back. Rheagar or Viserys. I couldn't answer because I'd spent years watching your father descend into madness. At least with Jon, he has Stark blood. Don't do this. Please. Don't push your claim."

She stood there alone, looking around the room. She was alone, as she always was, save for Missandel and Greyworm. Her Dothraki were all but gone, but she had two dragons and most of the Unsullied. She knew now the only way she would gain other forces was to give up everything she had worked for. Knowing what her father had almost done changed nothing. Robert was the usurper. She had nothing left to lose. She gave a quick order to Greyworm who nodded. They would go to White Harbour and back to Dragonstone where she would make a plan to march on King’s Landing; with or without help.

"In one month's, time I will march on King’s Landing. Any army that is not at my back is my enemy. My dragons…" Her purple eyes gleamed and no one could miss the threat.

She glanced at Varys and Tyrion. "Do I even have to ask?"

Tyrion shrugged. "There is more to discuss. If you calm down, take some time…"

"I am done listening to those who want to steal my birthright."

She turned and stalked for the room, Greyworm glowering at them all and the beautiful woman from Naath wringing her hands.

Once she was gone, all eyes turned back to Jaime. And Sansa who hadn't stopped holding onto one another. Things had gone dramatically off-kilter, and no one knew what to say.

"Were you serious about backing Jaime's claim?" Tyrion asked Jon.

Jaime closed his eyes and breathed in, as Sansa hugged him tighter.

Jon nodded. "I don't give a fuck about the throne. I want peace. And I trust him and my sister."

Tyrion grinned. "Well, technically, cousin. But that matters not. We have two angry Queens, one with dragons and the Unsullied, the other with Euron Greyjoy, the Lannister Army and the Golden Company. We're fucked if you all didn't realize that."

"Will she do it?" Lord Royce.

Jon nodded. "Aye, I believe so."

Varys and Tyrion, who had been with her the longest also agreed.

"So, we march south to back her, or she burns us all?" Sandor. "Fuck that," he muttered. "Fucking dragons."

"We might have a plan," Jon started to say, looking at Jaime who nodded.

"If Arya can kill Cersei and assume her identity, then we can evacuate the City and Lannister forces. Together, with the Lannister Army, the North, the Vale, what's left in the Riverlands and any soldiers that Gendry and Sam can rally from the Reach and the Stormlands, we might be able to stop her."

"It's the dragons, though," Jaime muttered. He raised his eyes. "How do we kill two fully grown dragons?"

Tyrion sighed. "There were weapons, in the lower level of the Red Keep. Qyburn must know about them," he said. "I can't imagine our sweet sister sitting on her arse, waiting to be burnt to death."

Jaime grimaced at that thought. He shot a look at Arya and Sandor. "Do you know the secret passageways in and out?"

Sandor shook his head, and Jaime glanced at Tyrion. "Can you show them to me?"

Tyrion nodded.

"How many men did Cersei leave in the Westerlands, Jaime?"

He shook his head. "None. You know this brother. When we saw what she did to the Highgarden train, we pulled everything to King’s Landing."

"Fuck."

"Who is left?"

Jaime grinned, and it was the grin of a man who knew he held the key to his army. It was fascinating to watch Jaime Lannister become the man Tywin had always wanted him to be. "Ser Addam Marbrand is in charge."

Tyrion smiled.

"Thank gods. That man would die for you, Jaime."

Addam and Jaime were childhood friends, and they knew the man would be on Jaime's side. Like most of the Lannister forces.

"I know."

He felt his wife shake.

"Give us a moment."

He pulled Sansa out into the corridor and cupped her cheek. "What do you want me to do love?"

She sobbed into his chest, so overwhelmed right now. Her mind was racing. If they stayed here, even if they sent forces south, Dany could quickly come back and roast them alive any time she wanted. She knew that Cersei would never let them live in peace, and she had to be eliminated. And she knew, she knew, that Jaime was the rightful heir to the throne. Jaime or Jon. But her cousin had no interest and in fairness no head for it. He wasn't married and until weeks ago, had believed himself a bastard his entire life. Jaime had been groomed to be the Lord of Casterly Rock. From birth. Tywin Lannister had poured hours of work into preparing him. But could she do it? Could she go back to that hateful place, live there, rule there?

"Sansa, love, speak to me," Jaime was almost pleading with her. "Whatever you want."

"Promise me we will visit places. The Rock. Here. Winterfell. I'll need to come home, from time to time, Jaime." She was clutching at him, and he nodded.

"Anything love. Of course. We will have the best small council, good advisors we trust, my love."

"Alright."

"Yeah?" Jaime asked, still uncertain.

She kissed him. "Yes. I'll be your Queen, Jaime Lannister."

He growled and pulled her tighter. "You already are love. You already are."

They walked back into the meeting, hand in hand.

"So, are we in the presence of the next King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?" Tyrion quipped.

Jaime and Sansa shared one last look, then turned to their friends and family. One single word that would change everything in their lives. "Yes."


	15. Chapter 15

After everyone in the map room had agreed to the beginnings of a plan, Jaime had dismissed everyone. He felt his wife sag against him and knew that they would reconvene the next day to discuss details, but he had needed time and space with her. And everyone needed time to recuperate.

He'd all but ordered Arya and Sandor to stay the fuck in Winterfell, knowing they had plans for them. Both had looked almost affronted until Sansa pleaded with them.

"You will get your vengeance, the two of you, I promise. But we must be smart." Arya’s eyes were flashing at the command, but both nodded. "I want your promise."

"Aye, little bird, we won't leave until we have a plan."

Arya's eyes narrowed. "You have a plan." A wide grin broke out on her face. "I'll wait. Two days." She glanced at Sandor. "Then, we leave."

Arya didn't see Gendry's sharp intake of breath, but Sansa did, and she wondered what might happen there. The Dragon Queen had made him lord of the Stormlands. An unconfirmed bastard of Robert Baratheon. A man who couldn't read or write. Who had never had a single lesson from a Maester. It was a mess. She knew her sister wanted nothing to do with a keep or the running of one. And she had no idea what to do about it. The Stormlands were devastated. She made a note to speak to Ser Davos about it.

She felt utter exhaustion. Today had been so emotional, and she still hadn't processed precisely what she had agreed to. She knew she'd said she would be the Queen, but was that of the seven Kingdoms entirely? Or would they all break apart into their separate regions? Sansa knew that it wasn't an unheard-of concept. It was only the Targaryen's that had forced them all to bow to their dragons and make a united Westeros. She glanced at her handsome husband; the West or the North? Or would they be forced to stay in King’s Landing? Did they have to make it their capital? Her head hurt, and they had almost no time to think things through with the deadline that Dany had issued as she'd stormed out of the map room.

One month. One month to save the people of King’s Landing; the innocent that would surely suffer under either Queen. One month to have a solid plan to deal with not only Cersei and her vast armies, but Dany and two dragons. It was enough to make her want to weep.

As if he knew she was close to her breaking point, Jaime was there, wrapping his arms around her and commanding everyone out of the map room and brought her back to their chambers. He'd ordered dinner to be sent to their chambers, and she barely put up a protest. Once it was on the table, he'd hauled her onto his lap and all but hand-fed her to ensure she ate. Once he was satisfied, she cuddled against his chest.

"Thank you," she said softly, and he grunted. Jaime had come to realize just how much he loved taking care of his wife like this.

"It's an impossible situation, Sansa. I'm so sorry."

She cupped his face. "I am as well." He met her eyes and saw that while she hated his sister, she knew that her death would hurt him, even if he didn't love her that way anymore.

"We have a few days to make a proper plan. To do whatever we can."

She felt the tears come. "I know. I want the people I love to live. If that makes me selfish…"

He cupped her cheek and stroked her cheekbone. "It's doesn't Sansa. Gods, never, love. Of course, you want those you love to live."

They pressed their foreheads against one another. Her voice was so low and soft he had to strain to hear it. "I want it to end. War. Death. Pain."

His heart broke for both of them and everything they had been through. He desperately wanted to promise Sansa that the world they wanted would exist, that their children would grow up in peaceful times. But he wouldn't lie; nothing was guaranteed — not even his survival.

"Come, love, let us steal what happiness we can." He scooped her up in his arms and undressed her slowly, kissing every part of her he found, making her gasp and sigh, moan and quiver, until she was a shaky, needy mess. When he finally sunk inside her, he moved slowly, reverently, looking directly into her eyes, never breaking their connection.

"Jaime," she all but breathed his name as he watched the peak roll over her face. He'd never witnessed anything quite like it, knowing that she loved him so deeply.

"You have my whole heart, Sansa," he said, feeling the crest coming over him, emptying himself so deep inside her. He prayed harder than he ever had, that no matter what happened to him, that she might become pregnant; that there might be some small part of him that lived on even if he died going south.

She was wrapped around him when he shifted. She gave him a confused look. He kissed her forehead.

"I need to spend time with Tyrion," he told her.

"Hurry back." He promised he would. As much as he loved his brother, being away from his wife was almost painful.

Jaime strode into the Great Hall to find his brother already there with a skin of wine. He gave him a grim little smile, and Jaime noted that the hand pin was sitting on a table. He returned the smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

Tyrion shrugged. He should have known and cursed himself that he hadn't seen Daenerys for what she was. He knew the history of the Targaryens as well as anyone. Maybe better than most. He didn't even know why he thought she was the answer to everything.

Jaime knew what had to happen, and it made his stomach hurt. He hadn't yet shared it with Sansa, but he knew she was one of the smartest people in the realm; she would figure it out when she wasn't worn down by exhaustion.

"When will you leave?"

Jaime's eyes slid to Tyrion.

"I may have made a mistake with her, but I can still read you like a book, brother."

Jaime grunted.

"What's your plan?"

Jaime sighed. "Euron Greyjoy won't leave our sister’s side. It's not enough to send Arya and Sandor. Someone needs to be there with them. They don't know the Red Keep, not like I do."

"And your wife?"

Before Jaime could answer, both Lannister men startled, seeing Bronn of the Blackwater saunter into the Hall.

Tyrion snorted, which was entirely out of place given that the man had the crossbow that the dwarf had used to kill his father trained on him.

"Hello, lads. I'm pretty sure I'm owed a Castle. Waited until you survived that Long Night business. Now I'm looking to collect."

Jaime threw his head back and laughed. "She sent you? Gods, she’s a bitch."

Bronn's eyebrows rose. "Heard you're not in love with your sister anymore. Who's the new cunt?"

Jaime moved so fast that Bronn hardly had time to react before his sword was out and at Bronn's neck. "My wife. And you will not ever call her that again if you want to live."

Bronn's eyebrows rose. "Oh ho, he's in love, is he?" His tone was mocking and doubtful until he saw the looks on their faces.

Bronn shot a look to Tyrion and threw down the crossbow. Tyrion nodded.

"Changing sides? Again?" Tyrion's sarcasm was more than evident. "How quaint. We can't offer you more than a castle, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater."

"You lads have a better chance of getting me a castle than your mad sister." Bronn held his hands out as if daring Jaime to take his neck now. Jaime looked in his eyes. A part of him was hurt that Bronn would have even taken Cersei up on her offer to pay him to kill them.

"I was never going to do it. Not that much of a cunt, you know." Bronn's voice was quiet and sincere.

Then another voice was in the hall.

"Jaime?"

He turned so fast; he would have dropped his sword had he not had such a grip on it.

"Sansa." He moved to her then, drawing her into his arms, kissing her softly.

Bronn's mouth dropped open. "Fuck me. It's true."

Tyrion laughed. "It is."

Jaime brought Sansa back to the table where the other two men were now seated and settled his wife on his lap. He glowered at Bronn. "Don't ever think about fucking hurting her." Sansa cuddled in deeper into Jaime's embrace. She had woken by herself and missed him. Jaime stroked her back; she was like a sleepy kitten right now and he liked the weight of her on his lap.

Bronn held up his hands again, utterly fascinated watching Jaime fucking Lannister cuddle his wife. Bronn never thought he’d see the day when his friend agreed to marriage.

"So, what's the play?"

Jaime's eyebrows rose.

Bronn waved a hand. "Seeing this," he said, pointing to Jaime with his wife snuggled in his lap, Bronn knew that they would be the ones in power in the end. "When do you leave?"

Sansa let out a little sigh. She had known he'd have to go. She'd read it in his face the moment she'd said that Arya and Sandor needed to go south.

He looked from Bronn to his wife. She cupped his cheek. "I know, Jaime. I knew the moment I told you about my plans for my sister and the Hound."

He pressed his forehead to hers. "If there was any other way, love…"

"There isn't."

And that was the harshest truth of all. Jaime Lannister needed his army and the only way to get it was to sneak into the Red Keep, murder Cersei, Euron and the Mountain and take control of King’s Landing. He'd have the Lannister forces, and Arya Stark as Cersei could command the Golden Cloaks. Together they could get as many as possible to safety and then take on Dany, the Unsullied and two dragons.

"Well that sounds like a good fucking way to get dead," Bronn said when Jaime explained it to him.

"No one said you had to come."

He barked out a harsh laugh. "If you think I'm letting you get within ten fucking feet of her by yourself, you're fucking crazier than her."

Jaime shook his head at the sellsword. He knew the man wanted gold, a castle and a highborn wife, but Jaime thought that the man might give a shit about him.

"Come, wife, let us leave these two to their reminiscing. We will see you at the war council tomorrow."

Then Jaime and Sansa were gone, leaving Tyrion and Bronn by themselves.

"He loves her."

Tyrion grunted. "That he does."

"And he's who you want as the next King?"

Tyrion could see the gleam in the sellsword's eyes. "He is."

Bronn grunted and then leaned in. "There is already talk. Someone sent ravens throughout the realm."

Tyrion's grin was broad and wide. "Good." He wanted everyone to view Jaime and Sansa Lannister as the alternative to Dany and Cersei, and so far, of what Bronn said was true, his plan was working.

The next day at the final war council with everyone present, details were worked out. Bronn, Jaime, Sandor and Arya would head to King’s Landing immediately, leaving tomorrow. Sansa's heart clenched at the thought of her husband being away from her, but she trusted him. Sansa just wanted him to survive. She knew they needed to do this. No one could live under the threat of Cersei and Dany. Her children would never be safe. They would never be safe. Still, it was painful to be parted from him, and when the council broke up, she stole him away to their rooms. Everyone knew that they would be alone until Jaime left early the next morning.

She was almost frantic in her need for him, stripping him down immediately, kissing him and demanding he pleasure her. He was helpless to resist, making her peak again and again until she was wrung dry and worn out. She laid sprawled in his arms, tracing the muscles on his chest and abdomen.

"This is worse than the Long Night," she told him eventually, and he grunted his agreement. Then she pushed herself up.

"Will you be able to let Arya do it?"

They both knew what she was referring too. Jaime swallowed hard and nodded, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

"I will. You are everything Sansa. Everything."

She looked into his eyes and saw the truth there.

"I want to go to the Rock," she said abruptly. She had to trust that he could handle Cersei, that he was devoted to her, that he loved her. She needed to focus and plan for afterwards.

His eyes widened, and then a huge smile broke out on his face.

"Seriously?"

"Yes. When we win, and we will win, I want you to take me to your home."

"What about the Throne?"

She let out a scoff. "I will be Queen. I will go wherever I want." Then she let out a breath. "We need time, Jaime. The two of us, together and married. I want to see your home."

He got excited then, able to focus on something besides the grim and nearly impossible task before him. He let his fingers wander through her hair, finger combing it as he told her about Casterly Rock. The high walls, the endless rooms, the dungeons where lions used to be kept. She heard the pride and love in his voice when he spoke of it, and knew it was the right course of action. It was impossible to replicate what it meant to be in a place you belonged to. Sansa had discovered that in the taking back Winterfell. She knew her heart could expand to include Jaime's home as well. And that is when it all fell into place for her.

When he paused, she tilted her head to him.

"I don't want to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

She watched as he frowned, clearly not understanding. She kissed him, laughed and sat up, comfortable with being naked. She was excited.

"There shouldn't be one Kingdom, Jaime. There should be seven. Or eight." She frowned. "The Iron Islands has been angling for years for their independence. Dorne. The North. The West. The Vale, The Riverlands. The Reach. The Stormlands." She watched as his face broke out into a grin.

"So, you're going to be the Queen that truly breaks the wheel?"

She grinned. "I am. And you'll be the King who helps."

There were countless things to work out. There were entire regions that had so few noble families left that it would be next to impossible to find someone appropriate. Houses had been wiped from history and years of war and conflict had decimated Westeros. But it felt right. It felt like this was what was supposed to happen.

"And you? Where do you want to be love?" Jaime asked after a time. She shrugged.

"The North and the West. We can have both. I don't think Tyrion is in a position to give the West heirs, and neither are Bran or Arya."

Jaime wiggled an eyebrow. "Well, then we will need lots of children Sansa."

She beamed. "Good."

"Fuck, I love you," he said, in awe of her.

"We can't tell anyone Jaime. This is between you and me. We need to rally people to our side."

"I swear, Sansa. You and I."

Then their gazes heated, and he reached out to stroke his hand down her torso, watching as she moved and arched into his touch.

"Jaime," Sansa said, voice a breathy whisper.

"I want you wife."

She grinned. And then nothing more had to be said. They spent the rest of their time drawing as much pleasure from one another as possible, sleeping little and holding one another. It was still dark when Sansa helped Jaime dress the morning he was to leave and she held on to him as they made their way to the yard. Sandor, Arya and Bronn were already there. Jon and Tyrion arrived within moments along with Brienne.

Sansa couldn't help it. She clung to her husband, letting the tears come. "Be safe. Come back to me."

He cupped her face. "I will see you in King’s Landing wife. I love you, Sansa. More than any other."

She nodded. "I love you, Jaime."

"Be safe, little wolf." And then he kissed her one last time and looked at Jon.

"I'm trusting you with her."

Jon nodded solemnly, taking Sansa into his arms. "I'll keep her safe."

Jaime held his gaze and nodded

When his eyes met Brienne's, the large woman nodded. Jaime realized that Tormund was standing behind her and he grinned.

"I made a vow Ser Jaime. Like you. I will keep Lady Sana safe.

"Thank you, Brienne."

Then he mounted his horse. Jaime wanted nothing more than to stay. To say fuck it to Cersei and Dany and all this obligation that was weighing him down. But he knew they'd never be safe, and if he didn't leave now, he'd never leave his wife's side. He watched as the Stark siblings said their goodbyes and then held his gaze on his wife.

Arya gave Jon and Sansa quick hugs

"Be safe," Sansa said, almost desperately into her ear. "I love you, sister."

"And I love you, Sansa."

Jon hugged her hard and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Stick 'em with the pointy end." She grinned.

With one last lingering look on the face he loved more than any other, Jaime turned and rode out of Winterfell, praying he'd see the keep again and turning his horse south.

Had Jon not been holding her, Sansa surely would have collapsed. They were set to leave with the rest of the Northern forces within days. Ravens had been sent to Dany. She was days away from reaching White Harbour, and they had bought themselves two extra weeks and the promise of more men. She had reluctantly agreed and threatened death by dragon fire again if they did not show. But in spite of her increasing madness, it seemed that she knew that she needed men. And it took time to wind an army, any army back down the Kingsroad.

"He'll be safe, Sansa,” Jon’s soft voice whispered in Sansa’s ear.

She let out a harsh little laugh. "No one can promise me that, Jon." Then Sansa turned and left the muddy yard. She had things to do before they would go.

She'd sent her husband back to his sister, a woman he'd spent his entire life in love with, to a hateful place where only pain and misery had existed for her. She felt like someone had carved her heart out with a rusted spoon and had no idea how she might survive the next few weeks, not knowing if those she loved best would survive King’s Landing.

Later, when Sansa had lost herself in her work, trying not to look at the still rumpled bed where Sansa and Jaime had lain and coupled only hours before, Jon knocked on the door and pushed in.

He gave her a soft smile, and she huffed out a breath. It wasn't his fault. She knew this. But it hurt that he was here, and Jaime was gone. It was irrational, but there.

"Bran asked to see us. In the Godswood."

She let out an annoyed sigh and rubbed her forehead. "Alight." She rose and found her warmest cloak. Winter might have left, but it was still cold.

Sansa and Jon were silent as they made their way to their youngest brother. He had spent the past few days with the Reed's, and Sansa had been so caught up in her pain with Jaime leaving, that she had no time to talk with Bran about anything.

When they finally approached him, he looked peaceful. And more like Bran their brother and not Bran the three-eyed-raven. He looked like the nineteen-year-old man he was. 

He even smiled at them. Sansa couldn't help but be happy, and she threw her arms around him.

"Sweet sister," he murmured into her ear.

When she finally let him go, he asked for them to listen as he explained as best, he could.

He would be staying in the North, with Meera Reed. She was still angry he'd sent her away, but he knew she'd be safe at Greywater Watch. Now that the Night King was defeated, he wanted her around, as a friend. 

"With him gone, I'm more… me." Bran blushed. "I'm not just Bran Stark, but I was losing that part of myself. I need to stay in the North. My power comes for the ancient weirwood trees, and this one most of all." Sansa and Jon nodded, pretending they understood and both knowing they didn't. But Bran seemed to understand what he needed, and that was something.

Then he grinned. "I won't be the Lord of Winterfell, Sansa. I can father no children. But I will stay here and rule in your stead when you are South. This is always your home, sister." She felt the tears pool.

"Jaime and I want to visit the Rock for a time. But I'll always come back to Winterfell, Bran." He nodded as if he knew more, and she had to ask.

"Can you see what will happen?"

He cocked his head. "Some. It changes. There are so many variables. It is easier to go back in time. Or in current time."

She nodded, disappointed but understanding. Then Bran grinned.

"I do see a child, dear sister. Two if I'm not mistaken."

Her hands flew immediately to her stomach. Surely, he was japing?

"Bran…"

"It's no jape sister. You carry the next heirs of the realm in your stomach."

Jon caught her just before she almost collapsed, heaving enormous amounts of air into her lungs.

"Sansa, breath. Jaime will kill me if anything happens. Especially when you show up at King’s Landing, pregnant with his children."

She had tears streaming down her face as she was comforted by her brothers. They spent an age in the godswood, laughing and joking. Bran even brought up Jon's love of the freefolk. 

"I liked living free," he said lowly, almost as if he were ashamed at such a confession to them.

Sansa knew it had been trying for him, growing up as Ned Stark's bastard. Even though he had a legitimate name now, he wasn't raised like her or Jaime.

"Anywhere you need to be, afterwards, Jon. Then we will make it work." He saw the truth in Sansa's eyes and nodded.

"I'd like to go North again for a time," he voice almost wistful. Ghost had suddenly appeared and settled between Sansa and Jon. Sansa missed Arya. It would have felt like they were nearly all there, and she hadn't realized how much she had needed her family. They let Jon tell them about their time beyond the Wall, Bran interjecting some jape now and again. They studiously avoided discussing her time in King’s Landing or at the hands of the Bolton's, but all in all, it was a pleasant afternoon. And one that Sansa had sorely needed.

When they walked back into the Castle, they were confronted with the genuine threats hanging over them. Tormund and many of the Wildlings, even though released from their obligations, had decided to march South. Ser Davos and Ser Royce met them at the gates to Winterfell.

"The army is ready."

Sansa closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Jon nodded. "We march at first light."


	16. Chapter 16

They were the oddest group, Jaime thought, trying to do anything possible to keep his mind off his wife and his horse south. Every single part of him screamed to race back to her, never leave her side and to protect her and love her. Logically he knew to do that, he needed to go south and eliminate his sister, but he was a miserable bastard being away from Sansa, which brought him back to his travelling companions.

Arya Stark. Assassin extraordinaire. She was deadly and snarky and quiet. She trusted him only because she knew how much her dear sister loved him and kept shooting death glares at Bronn.

Sandor Clegane. The Hound. A massive man, a killing machine and a man that had somehow become the champion of not one but two Stark women. Jaime didn't kid himself; he knew the man was half in love with Sansa as well. To his credit, Sandor had done nothing more than offer her his protection. He knew his wife loved him, that he had protected her in King’s Landing and that she viewed him as her only friend from that time. It pained Jaime what his family had put her through.

And Bronn. The sellsword. The man Cersei had sent to kill him. He'd at least shown a slight bit of loyalty. But Jaime had forgotten how he never shut the fuck up and judging by the looks on Sandor and Arya's faces; they were as likely to kill him as anyone.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Sandor was muttering on their third night when they finally stopped to make camp. They were travelling hard, fast and light and the days were brutally long. Jaime practically groaned each night when he left his horse, missing his wife and his bed with her in. He dreamed of her, longed for her and ached each night he was away.

Bronn had been needling Sandor, and Jaime not realizing the two men had a history because he'd been caught up in his misery, almost missed when Arya's sword came out of nowhere to pin Bronn against a tree.

"Oh ho, dog, now this girl fights your battles?"

Sandor, to Bronn's shock, barked out a laugh. "She's fucking more dangerous than any of us."

Bronn scoffed.

Jaime arched an eyebrow. "Careful. She took out House Frey."

It was a legend by now, what had happened to Walder Frey and his sons. Bronn's eyes widened, and he looked at the short, dark-haired woman in front of him. Her face was devoid of any emotion.

Bronn cocked his head. "That right?"

"That's right."

Bronn was trying to work it out, Arya could see that much.

"Who trained you?"

Sandor let out a grunt. Arya flashed him a smile.

"The greatest swordsman who ever lived."

"Fucking cunt," came the mumbled words but there was no heat and some understanding flashed between Arya and Sandor.

Jaime wondered what the hell was going on. He thought her heard the Hound mutter something like “Braavosi cunt.”

Arya sheathed her sword. "The house of Black and White."

"No fookin' way. That's a myth."

She gave Bronn a look as if to say don't be stupid.

"I killed Lord Frey's sons, took a serving girls' face and then fed them to him. When he realized who I was, I slit his throat. Then I poisoned the wine, so all other male Freys were dead. The North remembers." She said this as if she were discussing dinner.

Bronn had faced down some of the most intimidating men in his life, but nothing scared him like her. He glanced up and saw a look of pure respect and pride on Sandor Clegane's face. When his eyes swung to Jaime's, he shrugged.

"She's my sister."

Arya slapped him on the back then turned to Bronn. "Let's be clear. My sister, for whatever reason, loves him beyond anything else. So along with killing Cersei, Euron and the Mountain, we'd best keep him alive. That's your job." She pointed to Bronn.

He swallowed hard but nodded.

"You've upgraded," he leaned in, whispering to Jaime. The Golden Lion threw his head back and laughed.

"You have no idea."

Bronn saw the love and desire in Jaime's eyes for his wife.

"And it's what you want?" He was inquisitive.

Bronn wasn't an idiot. Jaime Lannister had been born to be as close to a King as any man in Westeros. His father had tried for years to get him married and settled at Casterly Rock. And yet, here, now, on the brink of all this madness, Jaime had finally done what he'd refused his entire life; take a wife and his rightful place as the Lannister heir.

Jaime closed his eyes in exhaustion. He hated sleeping outdoors, hated being away from Sansa. Hated being here. If his eyes were closed, he could more easily bring her image to his mind. "She's everything."

Bronn was quiet. "Guess every King needs a Queen."

Jaime grunted at that. He'd never even considered it for Cersei, and yet with Sansa, he was committed fully.

"How did you know?" That was from Arya.

"His little brother sent ravens from one end of the kingdom to another. All anyone can talk about. Jaime fookin' Lannister and his pretty northern bride."

"Fucking Lannister cunts," Sandor muttered, but it held no heat. It would help Jon and Sansa when they marched south, to rally people to her side.

Over the next few weeks, they made good progress; resting only when necessary. They quizzed Bronn relentlessly on what had been going on in King’s Landing while they had been away. The Golden Company was there; along with Euron who rarely left Cersei's side. Bronn confirmed that when he had left, the Queen was not pregnant, so that was a small relief for Jaime. The hardest thing was going to be sneaking into the Castle. Jaime was well known, and Sandor wasn't exactly inconspicuous. It would all be for naught if they were caught before they could even attempt to do what they wanted. Much of the plan hinged on Arya getting the correct face. She wasn't quite sure who was closest to the Queen that she might take theirs and Jaime was no help. He'd paid little attention to Cersei's handmaidens.

The unspoken question was would Jaime Lannister be able to stand back, and watch Arya or Sandor kill his twin? He'd said he would, and Sansa believed he could when it came down to it. But no one knew, and Arya and Sandor were in perfect accord that no matter what happened, Cersei had to die. 

They made it to the south in three weeks, and when the Red Keep came into view, Jaime felt such a conflict of emotion. So much bad had happened with the walls if that castle. So much pain, death and lies. And not just his, but Sansa's. His wife who was beaten by his son; threatened and maimed. Taunted by Cersei. Mocked. Framed for murder. Gods, how did she love him? He wondered.

"Steady Kingslayer?" Arya.

"Yes."

"Fucking hate this place," Sandor grumbled.

"Yup. It's a shit hole." Bronn. "Good whores though." He said that conversationally as if they weren't here on one of the most important missions of their lives. Jaime gave him a skeptical look. Sandor glowered at him.

"Really? That's what you have to say? Whores?" Jaime shook his head, letting out a short laugh. "You never change, do you?"

"Nope." Bronn grinned.

Then all four looked at each other and begun to pick their way closer. From this moment on, the danger had increased substantially. Jaime pushed all thoughts of Sansa from his mind. He needed his entire mind focused on his task. If he were successful than he'd be one step closer to giving Sansa the life she dreamed of. He couldn't afford a single mistake now. Everything was relying on him, and the three companions with him and the stakes had never been higher.

_Meanwhile at Winterfell_

Sansa found Bran speaking quietly with Meera Reed that night in the Great Hall. She'd spent no time with this young woman who had contributed significantly to helping Bran survived his journey beyond the Wall. She tensed when Sansa approached and looked at Bran, questions in her eyes.

"I told her how I feel, Meera. She knows we will be staying here," Bran said.

Sansa sat and gave the Craggowoman a soft smile. She reached out and grasped her hand.

"The Starks owe you a debt that can never be repaid," Sansa said, sincerity lacing her words. Meera relaxed a bit and tried to smile at Sansa. Bran's sister was beautiful. And powerful.

"I'm quite happy someone will be here with Bran."

Jon joined them shortly and also welcomed her to Winterfell. Jon had spent some time with Howland Reed, trying to see if the man had any insights into why Ned had made the decisions he had.

He hadn't been able to say much; just how devastated Ned had been that day. He had been devastated and scared. Howland Reed had confirmed that Ned had barely known what to do. All he knew, Howland said, was the if he didn't protect Jon, Robert would have had him killed.

It had been painful but Jon had felt something settle in him knowing that Ned had wrestled with what to do.

Both Jon and Sansa were pleased that Meera was here with Bran and felt better riding away from the Keep without having to wonder what might happen without any of them there to watch over Bran. Bran's powers were still not understood, but he reassured them this was the path for him and that he would be safe.

Sansa was conflicted leaving Winterfell. She had worked so hard to be back in her home, sacrificed so much, fought so hard to win Winterfell back that she had vowed she would never leave again. She thought that there was nowhere else in this world that she would want to be. Ever. But now she knew that had changed. Dramatically. Jaime was her home. The Rock, Winterfell or King’s Landing- it didn’t matter anymore. She would be wherever he was. That would be her home. She desperately hoped that she was pregnant, that Bran was correct. She was positively giddy at the thought of twins! Two babies. She knew she wanted as many as possible. Her mother had no issues birthing five children, and Sansa could imagine an equal number. She spent the time in the saddle thinking about Jaime being a father, getting a second chance to be one.

When they reached the Twins, the sight of such a horrific moment for her family, Sansa's heart clenched. Her and Arya had talked about what she had seen here and Sansa had given the version of events from her perspective. Arya's vengeance on the Frey's had filled Sansa with a savage sense of justice.

They encountered their Uncle, Edmure here. He'd been held in the dungeons until Arya's dramatics, and then stayed with his wife Roslin, weakened and unable to make his way back to Riverrun without alerting Cersei Lannister to his presence. He willingly joined them, sending ravens to his bannermen. The Riverlands had been utterly decimated since the wars with the Lannister's.

When Edmure learned about Sansa's marriage to Jaime Lannister, he railed at them. Until he learned who Jon was, what the Long Night was, and the threat of dragons.

Sansa was yelling at him by the time he questioned her loyalty. She had no time for him and his bigotry.

"Your wife's father arranged the murder of my brother, his pregnant wife and your own sister, Uncle. I do not need your approval, not does it even matter to me. You have no idea what I have survived, what Jon has survived. Arya. Bran."

He had been shamed and berated by others as well. Varys. Tyrion. Davos.

"There's two fucking Queens. One with a huge army, another with two dragons. Wake up, man." Davos had no patience for his hypocrisy.

Jon leaned in and told him never to speak another unkind word about Sansa or Jaime again. Or else. When they left the Twins a day later, Edmure was on a horse with them, and they knew that anyone who could join them on the King's Road on the march south, would. 

Ravens had been resent to the Vale by Lord Royce, the Westerlands by Tyrion, and the Reach by Sam, proclaiming that any soldiers left meet them at Harrenhal. By the time they rode into the ruined keep, weeks had passed, and their ranks had swelled with ten thousand more men, cobbled together from the three southern houses. Those in the Stormlands would meet them on the outskirts of King’s Landing. Gendry and Davos had composed that raven and Sansa was pleased with the response.

Even though Harrenhal was a wretched keep, Sansa had just spent close to three and a half weeks on the back of a horse. It had been over a month since she'd married Jaime, and she knew with her moon blood not coming, the increased exhaustion and queasy stomach, what Bran had said was true. She suspected she was indeed pregnant and was looking forward to a bed. They would rest here for three days, allowing any last men to stagger into their entourage. They had had no word from the four who had been sent ahead of other than they were just outside King’s Landing. Sansa knew that would be the last they heard from them until they were either successful. Or not. She was tense, snappish and miserable and she hated it. She should be ecstatic about being pregnant with her husband's children, but she was gripped with fear.

They had been at Harrenhal for two days when a great roar filled the air. Dread, unlike anything that Sansa had ever felt filled her. A dragon was back. And she could think of only one reason.

For once in her life, she was grateful to be wrong. Rhaegal, the gold-green dragon that Jon had ridden North, that had let him take him in battle was back.

Sansa stood by her cousin in awe as he swooped overhead.

"Can you…" Sansa paused.

Jon turned her head and let out a small smile. "Aye. I can feel him. It's a bond. Like with Ghost, but different. I wasn't sure he'd come back, so I haven't said a word."

"Jon," Sansa said, but she had a slightly stunned look on her face. "You truly are a dragon."

He frowned at that, and she shook her head seeing she'd upset him. It was one of the biggest differences between Jon and Jaime. Jon was broody whereas her husband was most often in a good mood.

"You're a Stark as well. A direwolf and a dragon. Are you sure you don't want the Throne?" She was laughing. "They'd just give it to you."

He took her gentle teasing easily and tugged on a lock of her hair.

"Nope. That's all for you. Don't even try to get it out of it."

Sansa gave him the side-eye she'd perfected and let her lips form a pout. "So, when do I get to meet your pet dragon, Jon?"

He laughed and grabbed her hand. "Let's go."

Her mouth dropped open. "You're serious?"

Then he barked out a laugh. "Nope. No way in seven hells. Jaime would fucking kill me."

Despite their japing, they both knew something had to have happened for the one dragon to leave Dany's side. They just hoped it wasn't something that would send her over the edge and into full madness.

_King’s Landing_

Getting into King’s Landing was more straightforward than they had thought, and they immediately knew why. Cersei was filling every nook and cranny with people. A human shield. Jaime wanted to be ill. They had been just outside the walls of the Red Keep when word had spread that Euron's fleet had all but destroyed Dany's. One dragon was missing, and Queen Cersei had kidnaped Missandrie.

They had managed to secure safe lodging in a shack in Flea Bottom. This was not a suicide mission. Everyone wanted to survive. Which meant as much as they wanted to rush up to the Tower to save her, they couldn't. She was as good as dead, they all knew. Dany hadn't yet marched her forces on King’s Landing, but it was only a matter of time. As far as Jaime could figure, Jon's army was still ten days from King’s Landing, and no matter what Dany might want to do, she didn't have the numbers. Not with only one dragon and the Unsullied. Besides, Jaime knew Cersei wouldn't make a move until she was on her doorstep.

Arya still had to get her face to get close to Cersei and Jaime was beyond frustrated at waiting.

"If Cersei executes her, the mad Queen will burn the city to the ground. We have no time, Arya," Jaime pleaded. 

She frowned at him. "It can't be rushed."

Each day she went out. She had a plain woman's face that she used to move around King's Landing, leaving the three men alone in tight confines with nothing but nerves and fear. It took Arya five days to find a face that would allow her to get close to Cersei, and that night, they planned. Euron had returned, and he never left Cersei's side. The Mountain was her constant companion. And Qyburn had mounted scorpions on every tower to try to take down the dragon.

Unfortunately, their plan was too late to save the woman from Naath. Word had rushed like wildfire through King’s Landing that the part of the Unsullied army had amassed outside the city gates, and that the Dragon Queen had stood stoically and watched her most loyal companion's head be taken clean off by the Mountain.

Jaime felt sick. Arya raged. Sandor felt like he was caught in skin that was too small. And Bronn didn't care. They had no time. Dany would only barely wait for Jon's army to arrive, and the entire city needed to evacuate. It would be a monster undertaking. The people from the surrounding areas had swelled the population to more than Jaime had ever seen.

"It has to be now. There is so much chaos with Missandrei's death."

They had been waiting here for what felt like ever. They were ready. Using passageways only Jaime knew about, they watched in horror as Arya slipped the flesh mask on, becoming someone who could move into Cersei's rooms. They needed it to be only the three or four of them in the room, and then Arya would give them the signal. It took a solid hour, but then she was there, motioning them in. They had been hiding in a small closet-like room.

It was a shock, mostly to Jaime, to see her again like this. She was not pregnant was his first thought. And her beauty didn't touch him. She seemed too harsh, too angry, too mad and too mean. How had he loved her? When compared to Sansa, she looked like a stranger.

His wife was everything Cersei wasn't. Loving. Kind. Smart. And in danger as long as Cersei lived.

He stepped fully into the room and watched the shock come over her face. Then rage. Then hatred. Gods, she was a bitch, Jaime thought. He wondered if she had ever loved him the same way that he had loved her.

Euron was howling in glee, rubbing his hands in anticipation. He was yelling and cackling about how he was fucking the Queen. And what he would do to the silver-haired one. He was mad that much was more than apparent. Jaime and Bronn stared at him in horror.

"Him, sweet sister? Truly? He was my replacement?" Jaime had unsheathed his sword as he made his way closer to his sister, drawing all attention away from the unassuming handmaiden.

The Mountain moved to stand behind Cersei as Sandor stepped into view, along with Bronn.

"Traitor," she hissed. No one knew is she was talking to Bronn, Sandor or Jaime. The name applied to all three.

Fuck, he couldn't even get near her, not with that beast she had guarding her back, Jaime thought. Gregor Clegane might be reanimated flesh, but Jaime’s twin was the real monster in the room.

"Which one, Your Grace?" Bronn gave her a wicked grin, unsheathing his sword. He bowed slightly. "This fucker owes me more than you ever will." He gestured to Jaime who still hadn’t taken his eyes off his sister. 

Cersei's eyes narrowed, and Jaime met her gaze.

"You would do this? After all, you've done. Who you married? To steal my crown?"

"Me? A traitor? That's something coming from you. You knew what was coming for the living, Cersei. I gave my word, sister."

The Mountain growled, and Sandor unsheathed his sword.

Euron was circling through the room, licking his lips and bouncing on his feet, but Bronn had his eye on him.

Jaime shook his head. "I made a vow, Cersei. To fight for the living."

"The living? Tell me, Jaime, how sweet is Sansa Stark's cunt?" She scoffed, and he swore she looked hurt, but he pushed that thought away. She'd been sleeping with Euron Greyjoy for months. Beyond that, Jaime knew what he and Sansa had was real. It was good. It was what he'd wanted his entire life.

He grinned. "Very, sister." He paused and his eyes locked with her. "She's everything. I love her."

She snarled and hurled her wine at him. “You don’t know what love is, Jaime.” 

"I love her,” Jaime repeated, the words stronger. “And when both Queen's are dead," Jaime pressed on, needing to hurt her, requiring her to die knowing that she had lost everything. "When this is over, I will take her home. To the Rock. Where our children will play. Where we will make new lions to carry on the Lannister name."

Cersei let out a bitter laugh. "She wants my throne, you fool. She's using you, Jaime. Gods, you were always so fucking stupid."

He shrugged. "And you're a monster. An open the door to the Red Keep for all those people? Do they know they are a human shield? Even father wouldn't…"

"Father wouldn't what? Do whatever it took? Be ruthless?" She let loose another pained sound. "If he had listened to me and murdered our little brother, he would still be here. Don't talk to me about Father, Jaime."

Jaime cocked his head. "And our children? Tommen?"

He saw a brief look of pain cross her face, but couldn't give into it. "I see the child you claimed you were carrying was another lie."

Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You betrayed me."

"I betrayed our house, our mother, and my vows the moment I laid with you."

She reeled back, shock crossing her beautiful face as if she couldn't believe he said that. He let her see the raw, truth on his face. He quieted his voice, but it was no less intense. "It was always wrong Cersei. No matter what we felt. We were always wrong. I know that now."

She let out a sound like a wounded animal.

And then every happened at once.

Euron moved, clashing swords with Bronn. They were a match, with Euron being bigger and stronger. But Bronn was light on his feet and had years of experience with his sword. Still, Jaime knew that they had to end this, soon.

Sandor moved towards the Mountain, making him leave Cersei.

That's when Arya wearing the handmaiden's face, rose up behind Cersei and held a knife to her throat. The Mountain was unable to do a thing, occupied with his brother, while Euron and Bronn clashed swords, smashing through furniture and walls in the room.

"Jaime," Cersei whimpered, her eyes tearing.

He held her gaze; he would not look away. He'd give her that much. He did love her; just not like that anymore. And not for a long time.

"Sorry, sister, not this time."

He watched as Arya's blade swept swiftly across her neck and she collapsed, dead.

When she had collapsed, and only then, did Jaime move. He couldn't think about her being dead, only what they had to do to survive. All this was for naught if either Euron or the Mountain survived. He saw that Sandor was struggling. Gregor had lost his helmet, and Jaime reared back in horror at the man's face.

Arya had ripped off her mask and drawn her sword.

"Go to Bronn," she ordered, twirling to face off against the Mountain. "Now," she screamed at Jaime, and he turned to find Bronn on his knees, Euron looming over him.

Jaime ran to them and driving his sword into Euron's back. He howled and turned to swipe at Jaime.

He was laughing in madness, describing all the ways he'd had the Queen. Perhaps if Jaime didn’t love Sansa it would have bothered him more. Jaime swung and parried until he had the upper hand on Euron and with one last thrust, drove his sword into Euron's chest and yelling, jerked it, almost cutting him in two.

Euron’s eyes widened before he dropped to his knees, holding his entrails that were spilling out, the room filling with the stench of death.

Meanwhile, Arya had been occupying Gregor while the Hound stumbled to his feet.

"Fucking cunt," Sandor grimaced, holding his side. He knew now that had he had to try to take him by himself; he would never have survived. He glanced at Arya, only alive because she was fast and small. She had his brother occupied when she yelled, "Now," to Sandor and watched as the Hound swung took his head clean off, his massive body falling to the floor, finally, truly dead.

After it had been done, Jaime pinned Qyburn with a look.

"Not a word, Maester."

"No, Your Grace." His voice shook, but he was a man that wanted to live.

Jaime was startled to realize that by the rights and laws of Westeros, the throne was now his. He was King.

Arya happily pointed it out.

"Fuck that shit, won't bow to you," Sandor said. He had collapsed against a wall, the pain of the fight stealing his breath.

Jaime ordered that Qyburn tend to Sandor and Bronn. They had taken the worst beatings in the fight. Part of Jaime resented how they almost hadn't allowed him to participate at all, wondering if this is what happened when you became a King. No one would let you swing a sword.

Arya was there. "We have no time to waste, Jaime. We need to get people out of the city."

He looked at Qyburn. "Send for Ser Marbrand. Get men to clean these bodies up."

"I need some time with your sister."

Jaime paled and swallowed, hard and then nodded once. He knew what Arya had to do, even if it turned his stomach when he thought about it.

Before the Maester left, Jaime called out. "How far away is the Northern Army?"

"Two days, Lord Jaime."

He swore and nodded, looking back at Arya. "Do what you must."

He stalked out of the room. He needed space and time to think- just five minutes. He knew that some of Dany's army had amassed on the outer wall. They needed to send people south, into the Kingswood. Dany had come from the Northeast and Jon would approach the city from the Northwest.

When Ser Addam Marbrand strode into the antechamber, he stopped, startled to see Jaime. He frowned. "I heard you'd gone North. Married."

Jaime grinned at his old friend. "I have."

"And the Queen?"

Jaime grimaced. "Dead. Along with The Mountain and Euron Greyjoy."

"Thank the seven gods," Marbrand breathed. He straightened. "What now?"

Jaime sighed. "I need my army."

Addam grinned. "They've just been waiting for you, Jaime."

The men embraced. "Evacuate the city. Get as many people moving south, into the Kingswood. Use the Kingsgate in the south. She'll come from the North. There is no time to waste. The Dragon Queen approaches with the Unsullied and a dragon."

Addam nodded. "And the other one? The bastard Jon Snow?"

Jaime grinned. "I married his sister. We are allies, Addam."

He saw the relief on the man's face. "It will be done."

Before Addam left, he turned back. "Your Grace."

Jaime grimaced, but Addam laughed. "Your father would be proud of you, Jaime Lannister."

Then the man was gone; to attempt the impossible. To get a million people to evacuate King’s Landing before Dany burnt them to a crisp.

_The Road South_

They had left Harrenhal the day after the dragon had arrived. Jon had decided to spend time with him. They all knew that the only possible way Dany might be defeated was with him- dragon versus dragon. That left Sansa with Brienne, Pod, Tormund, Ser Davos and Gendry. She found they were good company, even as illness threatened to drive her from her horse. She cursed her husband; not for giving her a baby, but for not being there while she sicked up her meals and moaned in the saddle. It got so bad at one point that she all but crawled in the litter with Tyrion and Varys. Her former husband let her lean against him and tried to comfort her. Still, she didn't miss the look of delight on his face.

"Men," she all but grumbled.

"My dear, do you know how happy he will be when he learns about this?"

Sansa felt the tears come to her eyes. That was another thing; her emotions were all over the place. "I know. I am happy as well. I wish I knew that he was alive."

"He's survived so much, Sansa. I can't imagine him not surviving this. Not when he has so much to live for. Not when he loves you so deeply."

Sansa smiled at that thought. She knew how much Jaime loved her, and she ached to be away from him.

It took them eleven days to reach the outskirts of King’s Landing where they found Dany and her dragon waiting.

That night in their tent, Davos, Tyrion, Jon and Sansa worried about what might come. Dany had barely spoken to any of them. They'd had no word from inside the Red Keep, other than the fact that people had been confirmed to be fleeing out the south gate and into the Kingswood.

"It has to be mean they were successful? Doesn't it?"

Jon shrugged and brooded. He had no idea what was happening inside the Castle walls. Rumours were that the Queen prowled the hallways and that her guard, the Mountain was never far from her side.

Sansa was looking upon the temporary map that they had in their tent when a flap was pulled back, and Jaime stood there.

Her eyes immediately met his, and then she was moving, along with him. He grabbed her and crushed her to his chest, his arms banding around her so tightly she could barely draw breath. It didn't matter; she finally felt happy again.

"Oh gods," he said, burying his head in her neck, inhaling her scent and feeling her body against hers.

"Fuck Sansa I love you," he was muttering into her ear, almost sobbing with relief.

She had tears streaming down her face as she tried to burrow further into him.

"Jaime, Jaime, Jaime." His name was on repeat.

The other three looked on; relief, love, affection, and joy for the couple that Jaime had survived.

They watched as the Kingslayer allowed them to be parted just far enough for him to crush his lips against his wife's, and Sansa pressed herself tighter into her husband's arms.

When they finally came up for air, Jaime's hand stroked her cheek. "That was the worst five weeks of my life."

She nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "The others?"

He sighed and looked at the other three. There was an urgency to this meeting, and he couldn't stay. As much as he'd like nothing more than to find a bed and be with his wife, they all knew that only half the task had been done.

"It is done. The city, as many as we can, we are evacuating. We have control of both the Lannister forces and the Golden Company."

Jon grinned. "We have a sizable force; at least fifty thousand men."

"It means nothing against two dragons."

"One dragon."

"What?"

Jon laughed. "The green beast is mine, Lannister."

"Thank fucking gods," Jaime breathed.

"Will she parlay?"

Jon shook his head. "She wants the Iron Throne. The battle is now against her and her forces."

Jaime swallowed and nodded. Their combined armies should be able to take out the Unsullied forces, but it was that black dragon that would be the problem.

"We'll need a plan. Qyburn has scorpions mounted on all the towers. One good shot…"

They all nodded.

"A pincher move. When she moves the Unsullied forward, our army will attack from the rear, with yours in the front."

They were leaning over the map. It was messy, but the best they could do.

"It will have to be you and her on the dragons, Jon."

"Aya, I know." He heaved a sigh. "She's bonded with hers better. I'll try bringing her over the city. You'll have to have men ready, Jaime."

"I will." He paused. "If we were to ring the bells, indicate our surrender when we have her ground troops trapped, would she get off her dragon?"

Everyone looked startled at the suggestion. It was a brilliant move. Take out the Unsullied, drive her to distraction with the scorpions and then indicate they surrendered.

"If she were away from him…" he looked up. "She'd be vulnerable."

Tyrion and Jon both looked slightly ill at the thought, but Jaime wouldn't be dissuaded. He'd watched his sister die a few days ago, and everyone knew that the same fate was in store for Dany.

"It might work. We have to try. Once we are back in control of the city, ring the bells, Jaime. It might buy us the opening we need."

He nodded and then drew Sansa off to the side. "I have to go back, now love, but soon."

She tried to hold back the tears, but they spilled over her cheeks. "I know." She pressed her lips to his again. "There's one more thing Jaime." She took his hand and placed it on her stomach, watching as his eyes widened.

"Are you sure?" His voice was filled with wonder and love.

She nodded happily. "Bran says there are two." His green eyes, already full, got impossibly larger.

"Twins?"

She grinned. "Yes."

"Sansa." The word contained everything that he felt for her. All the love and joy and desire and hope he felt when he was with her.

"I will survive. I will take you to the Rock, and our children will see the Sunset Sea. This is my vow, wife. My new vow and I have every intention of honouring it."

"I know, Jaime. Be safe, my love."

He kissed her once more, and then he was gone.

Jon was there to support her as she watched him leave, hopefully for the last time. The next morning, they would have their final war council with Daenerys Targaryen, before they would try to eliminate the dragon queen, once and for all. Sansa wanted, more than anything, for it to be over. For this to be done and for all the fighting to stop for a time. She let her hands rest on her stomach, praying that somehow, they would all survive the war to come.


	17. Chapter 17

Arya had used what she had learned at the House of Black and White several times now and become a faceless man, but it was always to impersonate some anonymous person. While she had every confidence in her ability to become Cersei Lannister, she realized after a day that she hated it. Arya had hated this woman since the moment she and her fat, ugly husband had ridden into Winterfell. And now she had to be her; for several days if Qyburn had been correct in the location of Jon's army. It was a critical part of the mission, and she realized that within hours when the leader of the Golden Company, Harry Strickland, demanded an audience with her.

They deferred him by a day but knew that he would not be put off and it would raise his suspicions if she did not entertain him.

Additionally, she needed to be seen, so that the people of King’s Landing wouldn't panic that their Queen had gone into hiding just when another army arrived on their doorstep. Still, it was irksome to be surrounded by Lannister lions, to have to wear her clothes and her crown. Arya practically broke out in hives when Sandor slammed that chunk of metal down on her head. How on earth Sansa was contemplating, this was beyond Arya's understanding. It felt like shackles tying you down. She wanted to be free.

Equally uncomfortable was Sandor, who was attempting to fit his brother's armour onto his frame. He kept muttering things to himself as he adjusted Gregor's armour. He kicked at his body several times, and when Arya asked if he wished to burn it, his face had lit up like she's given him the best present possible.

Bronn looked at the two of them in horror. First how Arya had all but skinned Cersei's face clean off her body and second how they seemed to take particular delight in the further mutilation of the Mountain.

"Fucking crazy fuckers," Bronn muttered.

They had three days at the most before Jon's army arrived and an impossible amount of tasks to accomplish, including evacuating the city.

Jaime was the most at ease in his location if not with Arya becoming his sister; he'd spent countless hours in the Red Keep and knew the castle intimately.

Arya hadn't been here except for years ago. She couldn't go anywhere without Jaime or Sandor, which annoyed her to no end to have to rely on them. Sandor took particular glee in leading her down wrong passageways until she finally threatened to slit his throat if he didn't stop.

Arya soon discovered that the only good thing about being Cersei Lannister was the ability to jape with Jaime. She felt a twinge of guilt the first time she donned her face and dress and saw Jaime pale and almost look like he would be sick. She had to admit it brought back uncomfortable feelings of seeing Robb's direwolf head sewn to his dead body. No matter how much Arya hated Cersei, she knew that this was Jaime's twin. If the situation had been reversed, she would have taken it much harder watching someone walk around with Jon's face.

Still, she soon realized that none of this would have been possible without Jaime. He knew Cersei better than anyone, and he corrected her mannerisms relentlessly until he was comfortable that no one would question that she wasn't the real Queen. It still didn't prevent her from needling him. Relentlessly.

"You would know," Arya sniped at him at the approached the Throne Room, and he barked at her to straighten her spine and act better than everyone else.

"She would never walk like that. She was above everyone else. And yes. I would know."

At least Arya listened, and she walked straighter while glowering at everyone as if they'd stepped in horse shit.

Jaime's jaw was tense. He hated every single thing about this plan. He had been a soldier his entire life. He had seen death, more death than he cared to and dealt more than his fair share. He knew monarchs fell. It was part of their life, their world. But nothing about this was clean or comfortable. Seeing Arya don Cersei's face and clothes, watching her slip into his sister's skin for all practical purposes, was disconcerting.

And then there were the snipes which were an odd blend of Arya Stark and Cersei Lannister and disorientated him more than anything. He felt slightly ill the entire time, even knowing that the more Arya was Cersei, the more comfortable they could control the Golden Company.

"We have one chance. We can't fuck this up," he told her the first evening, frustrated and uncertain of himself.

Everything hinged on having two massive armies crush Dany's Unsullied and forcing her to abandon her dragon or do something stupid so that they could get a clean shot at it. If she stayed on her dragon, they were all dead along with everyone else in the castle.

"I know. It's my family out there as well."

She sneered at him, and Jaime felt his rage build.

"They're my people. All of them. Soldiers. Mothers. Children. All of them. They're mine, and they will all die if we don't get this fucking right," Jaime roared, and everyone looked shocked. It was the first time he'd ever indicated he was willing to take the crown that had been offered to him in Winterfell. For five weeks had hadn't said a word.

"Fucking hells, you do care," Sandor said, almost in awe.

Jaime ran a hand through his hair. "Of course, I care. I've always cared. Why do you think I sullied my reputation all those years ago? To watch this, happen again? I killed a king to save King’s Landing."

Arya sighed and gentled her tone. "Jaime, we know. We all know. We all want the same thing."

"I don't. I want a fucking castle."

No one even acknowledged Bronn.

Jaime huffed and turned and stalked from the room, done with advising them for now. He needed space and to clear his head. He walked to one of the battlements that overlooked the ground outside King’s Landing and watched the Unsullied army for a time. Eventually, Bronn joined him. Night had fallen, and the torches didn't yet reveal the number waiting for them.

"Still don't get what these cockless fuckers would fight for her," he said conversationally, and Jaime grunted.

"They are slaves. Nothing more. She didn't free them, just gave them a new master. They could no less follow her than whoever their former owner was that held their whip."

Bronn arched his eyebrow at Jaime. He'd never seen him like this, heard him talk like this. He'd always been somewhat cavalier in his attitude towards who was running the realm and the people in it. This Jaime standing beside him was different. He cared, and he sounded informed. Bronn shook his head. It was a wonder how a woman could change a man.

Jaime and Sansa had talked at length about Dany, her ambition and those who followed her.

What Jaime had learned was that his wife was smart. Brilliant even. She learned everything she could, absorbed knowledge the way few others could do so. And more than anything, she truly cared for the people Despite every awful thing Jaime had done in his life, his one redeeming act, saving the people of King’s Landing had probably been a catalyst for her knowing that she could love someone as damaged as him. That deep down, he was capable of being a good man and a man worthy of her.

Was he facing the same problem with the Mad King's daughter as he had before? There were moments when Jaime felt like he was seventeen again. He had to remind himself he wasn't alone, and he wasn't without allies this time around. And that killing Dany was their collective goal if she wouldn't stand down.

"You can't let that little bitch get to you," Bronn said, shaking his head at Jaime. "Three days. That's all."

Jaime grunted something unintelligible. He knew it was real and he resigned himself to dealing with Arya tonight, prepping her for tomorrow.

When he re-entered the Queen's chambers, he was relentless with her; focusing all his energy on ensuring she moved, sounded, talked and smelled like his twin.

She snarled at him at one point, and she was so like Cersei he threw back his head and laughed.

"Gods she is such a bitch. How the hell did you fuck her for so long?"

Jaime shrugged. He honestly didn't know sometimes, and it felt shameful to think about it now. When it was happening, while he knew it was wrong, it hadn't felt disgraceful. Cersei had made it sound like it had been predestined that they were together. It hadn't help that his father had married his first cousin. Jaime remembered that argument clear as day when Cersei said that Lannister's were like the Targaryen's and married family. He hadn't been smart like her, and it seemed to make sense. He had been such a fool.

Then he thought about the last time he had been with her. It was almost like a distant memory that he couldn't quite wrap his mind around, except he knew it really hadn't been that long since he'd been with her; only months, but it felt dirty now compared to the love he felt with Sansa, and he rarely allowed himself to even think about it.

Then a gleam came into Jaime's eyes as he watched Arya stalk around the room wearing his sister's face and clothes. Everything was so familiar, but not. When she came closer, he winked at her and leaned in.

"Perhaps a kiss for my pretty sister." He'd lowered his voice to be seductive purr and reached his hand out to stroke her face and watched as abject horror came across her face.

Jaime and Bronn howled in laughter, the former finally having got the upper hand on her and all her no so subtle digs. Even Sandor had a ghost of a smile on his face.

"You're the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms," Arya snarled at him, and Jaime laughed until tears ran down his face.

"That's the look. You've perfected it. Look at everyone as if they disgust you."

She wanted to yell at him, but she knew he was accurate. No one knew Cersei Lannister the way Jaime did.

"I don't know why my sister loves you," she muttered darkly and instantly regretted her words when she saw the look of despair cross his handsome face. She looked around and saw Sandor and Bronn both give her a dirty look, and she knew she'd gone too far. Jaime spun and was just about out of the room, and Arya ran to catch up with him.

"Stop."

She thought for a moment he might not until he spun back to her.

"What?"

She sighed. "I'm sorry. That was too far."

He shrugged. "It's nothing less than the truth."

Arya let out a frustrated breath. "Perhaps. I don't know. I mean, I'm not like Sansa. All I know is she has always wanted someone like you. Good and kind and noble."

He barked out a harsh laugh. "Well, then she's fucked since I'm none of those things."

Arya met his eyes. "Maybe you weren't- or weren't always. But you can be. You did the right thing, coming North to fight for the living. You let Cersei die. You married Sansa to protect her from the Dragon Queen."

"I married your sister because I couldn't stay away from her." His voice was bitter and hard.

Arya shook her head. "No, Jaime. That's not true. We both know that. Don't cheapen it. You love her. Sansa loves you."

He shook his head and stalked back towards his new sister, wearing his old sister's face. It fucked with his head. "I'm a hateful man. I did hateful things for the woman whose face you are wearing. I could live three lifetimes and not deserver your sister."

"Perhaps that's true. But you do have her. And she deserves the best Jaime. The person you are capable of being. The one, your father, wanted you to be."

"My father?" His tone was both exasperation and bewilderment, as it always was when he thought of the Great Lion.

"Yes. Your father. He loved you, Jaime. More than all the others."

Jaime slumped against the wall, lost in memories.

"How do I fight against such hate? Such lies and a willingness to do anything to those they perceived as our enemies?" He was quiet for a time. "Tywin Lannister. Imagine growing up with him as your father."

Arya shrugged. "He was good to me at Harrenhal." As if realizing what she said, she quickly added, "His name was still on my list. But…"

Jaime's eyes were intense on hers. "But?"

She heaved out a breath. "He was… interested. Spoke with me and made sure I ate. Protected me." She grinned. "He told me I was too smart for my good." Then she frowned. "Said I reminded him of his daughter." She looked at Jaime. "He was a hateful man, Jaime, but I think he loved his family. You and Cersei at least."

Jaime was silent for a time. "What if she realizes what I am?"

His voice was so quiet Arya had to strain to hear it.

She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Jaime, she loves you. She knows exactly who you are. You know how smart she is."

"But if we hadn't been forced to wed, if we had been given a choice, perhaps after a time, she would have sent me away."

Arya laughed. "Now, you're acting stupidly." She had slid down to sit beside him on the wall outside the Queen's chambers. "She loves you. She'll love you until she dies. That's Sansa. She decided you were worthy of her and that's enough for her, Jaime. Now you have to prove it. And moping won't."

He gave Arya a half-grin. "And the blacksmith?"

She coloured and punched him on the shoulder. "None of your fucking business."

He leaned his head back. "I want it done, Arya. War. Fighting. I want peace. I want Sansa to have our children, and for them to see the Rock. And the North. Maybe have a pet wolf of their own."

She looked at him, almost incredulous. How on earth could he doubt he was the man for her sister? On the cusp of war with the Dragon Queen, and Jaime Lannister talked of peace. He had a kingdom in his hands, and he wanted babies and his wife. Any lingering doubt that Arya might have had about him and his love for her sister vanished like smoke.

"Then we best get back in there before Sandor comes and smashes our heads in."

Jaime grinned and hauled her to her feet. When they entered the Queen's chambers, both were lighter and knew what had to be done.

The next morning came the true test. The commander of the Golden Company was set to meet with the Queen, her brother and Ser Marbrand to formulate a plan for the upcoming war. Jaime held his breath as they entered the Throne Room. Having Sandor as Gregor at her back helped sell the entire farce.

Jaime, Sandor, Bronn and Ser Marbrand had discussed it at length. The people of the city were fleeing to the south and the Queen would issue the order today for more to follow.

They would combine the Lannister army, still twenty thousand men, with the Golden Company and meet the Unsullied at the North end of the Red Keep, head-on so that Jon could come from behind. Jaime would try telling Jon to let Dany know that when the bells rang, surrender was imminent so she would hopefully dismount the dragon, leaving both it and her vulnerable.

Nothing scared them more than facing that dragon. If they couldn't get a shot, couldn't unseat her, he could destroy the entire city. And once Dany found out that they had betrayed her? Jaime shuddered to think about what she might do.

Harry Strickland bought Arya as the Queen and agreed to the plan. He openly welcomed Jaime back, and when he asked about Euron, he was not subtle in showing his happiness that the man had left for his fleet in Blackwater Bay.

In truth, Bronn and two of Ser Marbrand's trusted men were tasked with taking care of Euron Greyjoy's ships when the battle started, since it seemed like Yara was content to stay on the Iron Islands. Having a full fleet for after the war would go a long way to establishing their dominance should she try to attack at all. Yara was a wildcard and no one knew what she might do.

When the Northern Army had been spotted, Jaime took a chance and snuck out of the Red Keep to relay their plans to Jon and Sansa.

Opening the flap of the tent and spotting his wife, Jaime almost felt his knees give out. She seemed pale and thinner, but she was the best thing he had seen since the last time he was here. He was moving towards her without a care to anyone else, and then she was in his arms and his world righted itself again. He heard her murmuring his name, but he was simply overwhelmed by the feel and smell of her. She was Sansa and she was his.

"Gods, I love you," he said, pressing his lips to her, desperate for her. He wanted nothing more than to find a tent and be inside her, buried so deep that they were almost fused together, but they had one last war to win.

He turned his attention back to Jon, Tyrion, Davos and Sansa and explained the plan now that they had convinced the Golden Company.

Jaime had felt such sweet relief when Jon said the green dragon was now his. They'd had men training on the scorpions for the past few days and told Jon about them.

"We have to keep them alive for as long as possible, to give them the best chance to take the dragon down."

More was discussed, until Jaime knew they'd done the best they could, and he had to go back.

Before he left, when he was holding his wife, and Sansa pressed her hand to her stomach again, he felt his heart almost explode. When he hadn’t been drilling Arya, he’d thought about Sansa’s pregnancy. Two children. His children. Children that would be Lannisters and have his name and call him father. His eyes filled with excitement and tears.

"Sansa, love," he all but breathed her name in wonderment. Only here with her could he contemplate and hope for their future.

He had to force himself to leave her side physically. When he was back in the Red Keep, he made for the Queen's chambers immediately, where he told them things were set. And reminded them of Sansa’s pregnancy. No one would say it, but if something happened to Jaime, then the realm would have its new Queen and heir as well.

They spent a tense two nights waiting for the signal that war was about to begin. More than half the city had been evacuated, but so many remained. Everyone knew it would be a blood bath if they didn't end things quickly, and no one wanted so many deaths on their heads. But like all commanders, Jaime and Arya, Jon and Sansa, Tyrion and Varys had done what they could. So much was out of their hands. They could only hope that when her army was decimated, Dany would realize the futility of her rule and surrender. Jaime shuddered to think what might happen if she didn't. A single dragon could unleash hell on earth for those below.

After Jaime left, Jon immediately ordered everyone to their tents. They had an early morning war meeting with Dany the next morning; the last before they marched on King’s Landing. The plan was shit, as far as military strategy went, but they had nothing else. Dany was set to advance and would not hold back, not even for him. He'd lost all sway with her, along with Varys and Tyrion. With Missandei and Jorah dead, the only person she was willing to take any advice from was Greyworm, and he was as bloodthirsty as she was for vengeance.

That's why Jon was surprised when she slipped into his tent after all the others had gone. He raised an eyebrow at her, questioning what she could want.

He found out within moments when she pressed herself against him, tracing her hands down his body, trying to kiss him. When she got to his limp cock, her eyes narrowed in anger.

"So, there is no more love," she said, her purple eyes gleaming in betrayal.

He shook his head and prayed he had the right words.

"We are family, Dany. Please. Let this go. We can negotiate." He knew now, with Arya wearing Cersei's face, that there was a chance to end this without bloodshed and more death. They could negotiate.

"We are family, Jon. That is why you should rule beside me, be my consort. We are dragons."

He thought he might be sick at the thought. He already felt dirty when he had found out she was his aunt, and he had slept with her. He had never felt the fire of the dragon blood she talked about; in fact, it made him sick when she did. He had always thought himself a Stark, and finding out who his father was, hadn't been enough to change years of growing up in Winterfell, in the North.

She saw the truth in his eyes about his feelings for her and stepped back.

"And your cousin? Do you look at her with such loathing? Because that is not what I see when I watch you watch Sansa."

Jon felt his stomach clench in fear. "She loves her husband, Dany. The one you married her to by force."

Dany hummed. "Yes, interesting. But not the question. You don't look at Sansa with disgust in your eyes. In fact," she said, eyes dancing in madness, "I believe you look at her with lust."

He wanted to scream at her to stop, to end this line of thinking. But he was paralyzed in fear. He had looked at Sansa like that, and he was powerless to deny it.

"Perhaps when I am on the Iron Throne, I will execute Ser Jaime and marry you to your pretty cousin. After all, your children could be my heirs, Jon Snow. Or Aegon." She frowned. "My brother wasn't very original. I could have yours and Sansa's children as mine."

Jon thought he might be sick. At the thought of all of it. He might love Sansa, and he might have thought of being with her like that, but never at the cost of Jaime's life. He saw how much they loved one another. He wanted that for her; a life and marriage with a family — a chance for something right out of some much pain.

"Dany stop."

She leaned in and squeezed his cock. Hard. Until he whimpered in pain and stilled her hand.

"Hate it is then."

She narrowed her eyes. "You've taken everything from me, Jon. Two of my children, half my army. And now my rightful claim to the throne. I will not hesitate to take what you love if I am crossed tomorrow. And we both know who you love best."

She was gone a moment later, and Jon wanted to vomit. He had thought by coming south, marching here, they'd be able to trick her, to make her believe they were on her side. But he hadn't been smart enough or quick enough to prevent her from looking at Sansa as a threat. Still.

If he had any lingering questions about her sanity, her willingness to compromise or her ability to rule, they had all vanished. He would swing the sword himself if that was what was needed for her to die. He wouldn't take pleasure in it, but he knew it had to be done.

He strode into the War Council meeting the next day, noting the extra Unsullied she had positioned around her, along with Drogon who paced just outside the tent. The atmosphere was tense.

They went over strategy, how and when the Unsullied should march on King’s Landing, and what Jon and Dany would do when they took to the air, clearing obstacles in their way.

"When the bells ring, when we have them where we want, that means surrender," Tyrion stated.

He looked to Dany who nodded.

"And will they surrender?"

"I believe they will, Your Grace. If we have them decimated and with nothing left to fight with," Jon said.

He met and held Dany's gaze.

She nodded once as if satisfied with his answer. Then her gaze slid to Sansa and Jon moved subtly closer to his cousin. Dany's eyes narrowed.

"Ready your troops. We take King’s Landing in an hour."

Everyone was stunned.

"Your Grace, surely we could wait until tomorrow."

She shook her head.

"I was born to sit on the Iron Throne. The time is now. Either you are with me, or you are my enemy."

"We are with you, Your Grace."

Sansa and Jon made their way back to their tent, and when they opened the flap, they were stunned to see Sandor Clegane pacing the small space.

"Little bird. Snow."

"What are you doing here?" Jon looked puzzled.

"Received a raven from your spooky brother. Said I was the only one who could keep her safe." Sandor pointed a heavy hand at Sansa. He heaved out a sigh. "And I'm shit at fighting when the fire is raining down around me. I don't need to be Gregor anymore."

Jon felt the relief course through his body. He'd had no one strong enough to protect Sansa, and he had been scared about how vulnerable she'd be with him inside the Red Keep and Jaime fighting from the other side.

"Thank the fucking gods," Jon said and grinned widely. Then he grimaced. "An hour, Clegane, then it begins. Take her and ride North. I don't trust the Unsullied or Dany."

"Jon," Sansa protested, and he silenced her with a look.

"Sansa trust me. Please." She saw the terror in his eyes for her safety. "I have twenty loyal Northmen ready to go with you Clegane. She is the future. The Queen we have chosen. Keep her safe, no matter what."

Sandor nodded. "Time to flee, little bird."

She wanted to argue but could not. She knew that if Dany wished to hurt her family, she was the weak link. And there had been something subtle, some undertone going on between Jon and Dany in the meeting a few moments ago. She gathered a small bag and hugged Jon.

"Stay safe."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you."

She had tears in her eyes. "I love you, as well."

Then she was gone, hustled away from the front of the war by Sandor and her loyal guards; she was their hope for the future. They would watch the battle from a safe distance on a hill that overlooked the Capital and where Sandor could see any approaching forces who might be coming for her. It wasn't much, but it was better than keeping her in enemy territory, once Dany realized that everyone had turned on her.

After Jon had watched her ride away, he turned to find his dragon. Dany would expect him on Rhaegal, and he wondered what the sacrifice that might be asked of him today. It felt like his entire life was one after another, and he wanted it to end. He would gladly give his life if it meant peace for the realm. He was so tired of war. He walked through the troops, men loyal to him, loyal to Dany. Men that had given up everything to fight, yet again. He wondered at the loyalty of such men, and how they could ask of anything more of them.

The sounds as he walked were familiar; Jon had spent more time readying for battle than anything else in his life. He saw the horses pawing at the ground, anxious and eager to get on with it. A well-trained warhorse was worth his weight in gold dragons. Some men paced; some were silent. Others chatted incessantly, unable to calm their nerves. He found Davos and Lord Royce at the front of the retinue and wished them well in the wars to come. All three gazed at the Unsullied. They were unnaturally still.

Jon had been told by Dany how they were created. It had horrified him if he were frank. He couldn't imagine a society that did that to children. Dany had said they were free, but he wondered how much free will men that had been slaves honestly had. Shaking his head, he kept walking, seeing men sharpen steel one last time, pack food into saddlebags for what purpose he did not know, and others glance furtively around as if there might be an escape from their fate.

He found the two dragons at the edge of the camp and Dany already seated on Drogon.

Her purple eyes met his brown.

"Remember, Jon, the price for disloyalty."

As if he could ever forget.

He nodded tightly and mounted Rhaegal, hatred for his aunt thrumming through his body. He could feel the conflict in his dragon's mind. They bonded, the way that dragons did, but she was his mother, and his rider hated her. Jon wondered just how aware the dragon was; it was clear to everyone that Dany was mad. Did the dragons know? Did they care? There was so much about dragon lore that had been lost over the years. Jon had never professed to be a scholar. A big part of him wanted time with his dragon, now that he had bonded further with Rhaegal. He seemed to react to him in much the same way that Ghost did, although Jon had yet to warg into the beast. He sighed. They were out of time. He had to trust that in the end, the dragon would listen to him.

Jon had left his men in the hands of Lord Royce, Edmure Tully and Ser Davos, and a few of his most loyal Northern bannermen. Just like as it had been in the Long Night, it pained Jon to be on the back of a dragon and not in the middle of the fight with his men. He was better with a sword in his hand, and that is when it finally hit him. He was more wolf than a dragon. He liked being part of the pack; be it his family, his men or in war. He wasn't meant to be above them, to be separate. It was a freeing thought that gave him confidence. He wasn't playing at being a Stark; he was one. He didn't want to be a lone wolf or a lone dragon. He wanted to be part of something. He would gladly and willingly bend the knee to Sansa and Jaime. He'd keep their northern borders safe if that is what they wanted. He wanted peace.

Within moments they were airborne. It was still thrilling each time Jon took to the air. It was such a different way to view everything, and he understood, even he if was never a true dragon, why those who rode dragons believed themselves to be invincible. Jon knew better. Anyone could be killed.

As they circled higher, they could both see the troops advance, the line of twenty thousand Golden Company men lined up outside the city gates. The Unsullied and Northern forces pushed forward, and all he could do was concentrate on Dany. His job, his and Rhaegal's would be to force her to the ground, to separate her from Drogon. And it would take all his concentration to do so.

Sansa thought her entire body had never been as numb as it was now, riding away from the battle. She had been prepared to watch the way she had the Battle of the Bastards.

"You'll have a spot on the hill. To see the battle," Sandor assured her, and she nodded.

"I have to see," was all she would say, and he grunted at that.

"They have a plan."

Both knew it was a hollow reassurance. Despite the dragon coming to Jon's side, Drogon and his fire could prove to be unstoppable.

"No matter what happens, you listen to me."

Sandor had a funny look in his eyes. Sansa's narrowed.

"What has my husband ordered you to do?"

He shook his head and remained tight-lipped.

"What?"

Sandor sighed and looked at her. "If this goes bad, I'm to get you out of here. Bronn has a boat waiting."

Sansa's eyes widened, and she went to protest, but then she laid a hand on her stomach. She loved her husband, but he was in the middle of a war with two dragons. And she was pragmatic enough to know that things didn't always work out the way the songs and poems said they did.

After an hour they crested the small hill where Sandor had decided she would be safe to watch from. It was wooded, and they were almost hidden from sight, and not an easy target for a rider on a dragon. That was what they were all worried about. Dany's hatred for Sansa was well established, and it would be easy for her to turn the black beast on Sansa in the heat of battle.

Sansa and Sandor sat, side by side on their horses and watched as both troops advanced on the Golden Company.

"Will it ever end?" she asked quietly after a time. Both knew she meant war. Both of their lives had been ruled by violence.

Sandor grunted. Then he looked at her.

"You might change things. You've seen more than most. Suffered more than most. You care." He gave a little shrug at the end as if he thought that even if she did want to change things, man's fundamental nature would prevent that from happening.

Still, it was one of the longest speeches she'd heard him make.

She met his gaze. "Where will you go? Afterwards? If we win."

He said nothing and Sansa shifted, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut. He'd made her no promises, and she had no right to ask.

"No plans, Little Bird."

She wasn't stupid. She knew enough about men to know when they were interested in her. Sandor didn't have to say why he was so willing to guard her back. She knew he loved her.

"Would it be too much to ask you to stay? To go wherever we go?"

Sandor swallowed hard and turned to look at the battle unfolding below. He thought about that. To spend the rest of his life watching Jaime Lannister love Sansa Stark. Watching them rule; have children, be a family. And what would he be? The scarred freak? The outcast? He looked at Sansa and shook his head. He meant more than that to her; he knew that.

"You're my family as well, Sandor."

And there it was what he had been searching for his entire life — someone to belong to because they liked him and accepted him. Whatever family Sansa and Jaime created; he'd be part of that as well. There were always going to be people who would want to hurt her; no matter how rosy the new world they created might be. He didn't mind the North. It was fucking cold, but the people were good. He couldn't even imagine what it might be like to be back at Casterly Rock but couldn't believe it being horrible if Sansa were in charge.

"I'd like that, Little Bird."

She smiled then. "Good. I'd like you by my side, Sandor."

When her eyes turned back to the battle, she sucked in a breath.

The unmistakable sound of war reached their ears. It was unlike anything Sansa had ever heard; bone and flesh were crunching against one another, and even from her vantage point, she could see it's brutality.

She kept her eyes trained on it, though; she would not bend or break or turn away. These people were fighting for their freedom from the Dragon Queen, and should they win, a crown would sit on her head. She would honour their sacrifice by watching it in all its gory detail.

Jaime heard the war horns blow and knew that they had been unsuccessful in convincing Dany to parlay with them. It had been a long shot at best, and it was why he'd sent Sandor Clegane to guard his wife, the big man slipping out of the Red Keep in the early morning dawn. He'd all but admitted he was shit when it came to fire, and a massive part of Jaime was relieved that he would be there. He didn't trust Dany at all with Sansa and knew Sandor would protect his wife with his life. And he would get her to safety if everything went to hell. It was the only way that Jaime knew he could fight, knowing that someone was protecting Sansa.

He looked to Arya. "Go. Now. Find your sister and guard her. If I survived, I'll find you."

Arya nodded once. She ripped Cersei's face from hers and then she hugged him hard.

"Stay alive, Jaime. She needs you."

He swallowed and then she was gone.

Jaime donned his Lannister army. Should they be successful today; he would take the Throne as a Lannister. And should he die, he'd die with his house colours proudly displayed. He was no longer ashamed of himself or his house. He had made terrible choices, but he had tried to save King’s Landing once again, and he knew that Sansa made him a better man, the type of man he'd longed to be his entire life. When he mounted his white horse, Addam handed him a red sash. Jaime's eyes widened in shock.

"It was your father's. He always wore it into battle." He coughed. "And you're our commander. You would have been the one we choose, Ser Jaime."

Jaime felt the lump in his throat, as he fingered the material, a golden lion stitched on one end. So that was how it was. His father would be here with him; at this most critical battle. It felt apropos. Jaime laid the sash across his armour and donned his helmet, and then rode out to the front to lead the Lannister soldiers, with the Golden Company against the Unsullied. The Lannister army cheered, loud and long to see Jaime Lannister lead them into battle. They had waited for an age for him to take his rightful place, and they were worth more than any Unsullied or Golden Company. Because, as Jaime roared, they fought for Westeros, for freedom and for their way of life. Daenerys Targaryen was a foreign Queen, an invader and a tyrant. And should the Lannister's forces die, Jaime promised them, they would die with honour in tact. Jaime was fighting for their house and the people of King’s Landing.

When he led the charge to the North gate, men in red and gold followed him willingly, and Ser Marbrand wished for a single moment that Tywin Lannister had been here to see his son take his rightful place at the head of House Lannister. More, he looked like a King. Their King.

Jon knew precisely when Dany realized something was wrong because, despite his concentration on flying, he was watching her. Everything rested on him, taking out a dragon one and a half times the size of Rhaegal.

Instead of the Red Keep being packed with a million citizens as a human shield, the streets were practically empty. She flew higher and saw a steady line of people fleeing into the south. When she looked down, she saw Jaime, mounted on a white horse, full Lannister armour, a red sash wrapped around his body and leading another twenty thousand men through the gates to meet her forces. And then to her growing horror, she saw the Northern army press forward against the Unsullied, catching them unaware as the Golden Company and the Lannister army came from the south.

It would be a massacre with her Unsullied trapped between the two forces.

She didn't need any bells to tell her that it was over; she knew. She could see it happen. She had been so focused on the movement of the troops, that the first scorpion bolt that grazed Drogon's wing had him screeching in pain, and everything terrible thing that had ever happened to her family coalesced into a single-minded focus; the Red Keep and King’s Landing. Lady Olenna Tyrell's words burned through her mind. Was she a dragon? Yes. And she would act like one, burning it all. It was the only way to cleanse the land of the Baratheon's and the Lannister's that had sullied what her family had built. And their sacrifice for disobedience would be the utter ruin of everything; homes, towers, septs and people. The fire would never touch her, and out of the ashes, she would rebuild her empire.

The first shout of dracarys sent a wave of fire throughout the city streets, obliterating buildings and people. She felt the power thrumming through her body and turned Drogon, who knew the leash was off, to take out the scorpions as bolts were fired. She unleashed another wave of flame and watched men burn, towers fall, and rock crumble. The power thrummed through her body, cleansing away all rational thought. This is what she had been born to do. She fired another volley into the streets, focussed on the men in red and gold armour that sought to challenge her. She felt nothing as their flesh melted and screams rose in the air. She was a dragon.

Jon was far enough away that he couldn't quite see what had tipped her over, but he saw her issue the command knew it was done. Her fate was sealed when she started to burn the city to the ground.

Sansa gasped in horror when the first wave of fire hit the city. And then there was a second and a third. She wanted to be sick at the sheer force and destruction Drogon and Dany were raining down on the city of King’s Landing. It was impossible to think about how anyone might survive that. And Jaime was in the middle of it. Her eyes immediately sought out Jon, and she saw him urging his dragon closer to Dany's. She chanted softly for him to get there to do something. She couldn't take her eyes from the destruction a single dragon could do. She'd read about it, but to see it in action was numbing.

Jaime felt the ground shake, even as his troops moved out the front gates; he heard the screams, smelt the charred flesh, saw towers fall. They had so little time now, and he prayed that Jon could force her dragon to the ground. When they got to the front of the city walls, they saw the decimation of the Unsullied. The pincher moved had worked, only now, Jaime realized in growing dismay, it left everyone vulnerable to dragon fire.

Because she hadn't been unseated, the bells had not rung, and everyone knew there would be no surrender. Even with her army all but gone, she would see them all burn.

They had one hope now; Jon Snow and his dragon.

Jaime glanced up in the sky, smoke and ash, making visibility worse and worse. He could only pray now.

Jon knew that Rhaegal wasn't as fast, not as strong a flyer as Drogon and he'd been injured up North.

Still, he had one advantage; surprise. He watched as Dany made her priority the scorpions, and just when Drogon was about to unleash another torrent of fire on the towers, he issued his command to Rhaegal, who let his fire loose, burning Drogon and spinning him around in the air, howling in pain and outrage. Jon saw the shock on Dany's face as if she couldn't even imagine why he had done it.

Of course, Dany was unaffected by the fire. Jon had heard the stories of her and fire and her immunity to it, but it had disorientated them both long enough, and Jon watched in horrified wonder as two scorpion bolts hit the black dragon, hurtling him to the ground below.

Drogon made the same sound as when the creamy blue one had fallen at the Night King's hand. Jon could feel Rhaegal's confusion and tried to reassure him through their connection. He stroked his scales, and he knew; they both did. Drogon was all but dead. The problem was that Rhaegal was in no position to land, and another thump and a narrow miss by yet another scorpion all but eliminated Jon's chances at landing. All anyone could see on the towers was a dragon, and that put them both in danger. Rhagael flew them higher and higher as he keened for his fallen brother. In some ways, Jon knew this was best. If he gave the dragon a choice, he wasn't entirely sure he would choose him should they land beside Dany. Jon had to trust that someone on the ground would finish the job of killing the Dragon Queen.

Jaime watched in fascination as Jon let lose the fire that distracted Drogon, and then as the two bolts hit the black dragon.

When they were down, it took but a moment for him to spur his horse into action. He'd tried this once before and had almost died. He didn't even stop and think if it was the right course of action. He just rode.

But this time, he would not be unsuccessful. He watched as the dragon crashed just outside the Red Keep's gate and against all the odds, as the small silver-haired woman emerged from the downed dragon's back, a sword in her hand.

Jaime shook his head at her tenacity and then to his horror, realized the dragon wasn't quite as dead as he had hoped. Drogon moved his massive head and opened his jaw as if to unleash yet another round of fire towards Jaime, only this time there was no pond and no Bronn to save him.

Fucking hell, Jaime thought, seeing the red in the dragon's mouth. I've failed.

And then to his astonishment, he saw the beast's eyes closed, and his head dropped, and Jaime spurred his horse faster, sliding off when he approached Dany and unsheathing his sword. It was a move he'd perfected when he'd been nothing more than a squire, and it gave him confidence. He swung his sword in an arc and then pointed it at her. Daenerys Targaryen.

She spit at him and narrowed his gaze.

"Come to kill Aerys' daughter. You'll be known at a Queenslayer too," she sneered at him.

He grinned. He had to give her credit. She was fighting to the bitter end.

"It's a title I'll proudly own, Your Grace." He gave her a mocking bow. She could see he meant every word. Being called Queenslayer would not bother him, nor would it stop him.

She swallowed and looked around, but as far as she could see, it was Lannister and Northern men, and none of her Unsullied. She clutched at her sword, and Jaime shook his head.

"How many more would you have burned? There are innocents in there. Women. Children. Already thousands are dead by dragon fire." It enraged him that she was as bad as her father.

She laughed madly. "The entire city until it was ashes."

"And my wife? Would she have felt your dragon's fire?"

Dany smirked. She knew she was as good as dead. "My biggest mistake was not killing her the moment I came North. I saw how Jon looked at her. Don't you worry? That they've used you, Ser Jaime?" Her gaze narrowed.

He grinned. "No."

"No?" she scoffed at him. "Jon's claim is stronger for the Iron Throne."

Jaime shrugged. "He doesn't want it. And my wife will be a better Queen than the realm has seen in years."

Dany snarled. "The Throne was mine."

And Jaime lunged. She was no match for him, and he felt nothing but grim satisfaction as he drove the blade into her chest. She would have destroyed everyone. He watched as the light faded from her eyes, this time looking straight at a mad Targaryen instead of from the back when he took their life.

When he withdrew his sword, it dripped with her blood. He heard a blood-curdling cry and turned in time to see Greyworm lunge, pushing him to his knees, holding his dagger to Jaime's throat.

He didn't even have a moment to think about his wife before he saw the Unsullied Commander's arm rear back to stab him fully when there was a needle-thin sword protruding through his chest from the back.

Greyworm dropped to his knees, his weapons falling from his arms, and Arya Stark stood behind him.

"I told you to flee," Jaime coughed.

She shrugged. "Sansa would have killed me if you ended up dead."

He chuckled and fell back on his arse, looking around and seeing their victory. He was leaning against a dead dragon, with the Queen and her most loyal man dead at his feet.

It was impossible to believe that it was finally over. All of it. The Night King. Cersei. Dany. All of them. Dead. He felt a giddy euphoria steal over him, even as he could smell parts of the city burning and see the destruction.

Arya sunk beside him as they awaited their people to find them. She nudged his shoulder.

"Well done, Queenslayer."

Jaime grinned. "You're one to talk."

She smiled.

After a time, Jaime spoke again, his voice soft and serious.

"Thank you. It's a title I'll proudly wear, sister, as should you."

She nodded, meeting his eyes. "You should. And I will."

They were quiet for a time, watching as first Jon landed his dragon not so far away. Rhaegal was shaking his head and huffing, and they both wondered if it was smart to bring the other dragon so close to the dead one, but then he took off into the air again, and Jon raced over to them.

"Fucking seven hells," he said, looking at the carnage, Jaime and Arya grinning like fools, sitting against Drogon's back. His eyes slid momentarily to Dany's, and he felt a brief pang that he couldn't save her, and then it was gone. He just thanked the seven gods it hadn't been him that had to kill her.

Within moments, Davos, Edmure and Royce were there, along with Gendry, Tyrion and Varys. Harry Strickland and Ser Marbrand, along with Bronn ran up to them as well.

Bronn cackled with glee and then pinned the Lannister brothers with a look. "I still want my fucking castle."

The three armies crowded around, all wanting to see the man who'd slain the silver-haired Queen. The crowd was ten men deep when there was a commotion at the far edges, and like the Queen she had always been destined to become, the crowd parted for Sansa Lannister, who galloped up to the dead dragon and her husband. Her horse had barely stopped when she was off it, moving towards him. Jaime had staggered to his feet when he caught her and swung her around.

"Jaime," she cried, burying her head into his shoulder, sobs wracking her thin frame.

"I'm here, little wolf. I survived." She was shaking; she had been so worried. Watching him ride towards the dragon had almost stopped her heart.

When he finally captured her lips, a cheer arose from the vast crowd that had gathered. When Jaime finally pulled himself from his wife, they looked around in awe. Everyone had dropped to their knees.

Tyrion rose, and his voice carried. "All hail their Graces, Jaime and Sansa of houses Lannister and Stark. First of their name, King and Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lord and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protectors of the Realm."

Another great cheer rose in the air, and amidst death and smoke and dead dragons, the new King and Queen of Westeros were crowned.


	18. Chapter 18

It seemed to take forever after he had his wife back in his arms for things to be sorted in the immediate aftermath of the death of the silver-haired Dragon Queen. Jaime couldn't really care about the politics of everything. Sansa was by his side, he had done his duty, and the threats to Westeros had finally been vanquished. For now. He wasn't that big of an idiot to not understand that there were still those that wouldn't accept him and Sansa as the King and Queen.

He knew his wife had ideas about how Westeros should be governed; they'd discussed them at Winterfell. Jaime just had no idea where to even begin and knew that had it been left up to him, Westeros probably would have suffered. He thanked the Gods for Sansa, Lord Royce, Varys and Tyrion.

To start, they established a full camp outside the walls of King’s Landing, making it their base of operations.

Word came that the Iron Born were angry that the queen they had backed had been killed and they were, predictably, calling for Jaime's head.

Dorne sent word that they had elected a new Prince. Jaime wasn't sure if that was a threat or a promise. They'd always defied the rest of Westeros by keeping those pesky titles when everyone else had given them up.

Then there had been some chatter about a new small council, and if Jaime heard the word hand one more time, he might take the next person's tongue. They had months of work to do before that became a reality, and right now, Jaime and Sansa had the people they trusted the most surrounding them. He had no idea why it all had to be formalized.

King's Landing itself was a mess. Thankfully Jon had done what he had promised and got Daenerys off that fucking dragon as soon as possible, but the damage that even five strikes of dragon fire had done to the city was enormous.

Ironically, the throne room and the Hand's Tower along with most of the Red Keep Castle itself remained undamaged. The problem was that to get from the outside of the walls surrounding the city to the Iron Throne, there were months of clean up; charred and dead bodies, ruined homes and enough stone and brick to bury a small village. Work had begun immediately to clean it all out, but it was a gruesome and thankless task.

At their first meeting, two days after their victory, those who had survived the two great wars gathered.

Sansa and Arya from the North, along with Jon, although no one was quite sure where he belonged.

Lord Royce from the Vale.

Edmure Tully from the Riverlands.

Tyrion and Jaime representing the Westerlands and, ironically enough, the Stormlands and the Crownlands. Sansa had looked at Jaime and determined that while Dany might have legitimized Gendry, they had no way of knowing if he was indeed Robert's bastard. Jaime was the next male in line to inherit the Baratheon lands and Castles, giving him three Kingdoms. He had looked panicked at the thought, and she'd had to reassure him she would be by his side every step of the way.

Varys and Bronn were there; the latter prattling on endlessly about a castle.

Sansa had told him the other night she had a plan for him, and by the gleam in his wife's eyes, Jaime knew it would suit his friend.

Brienne, Tormund and Pod also were part of the meetings and had become some of the most trusted people in their inner circle. Jaime was amused watching the red-headed Wildling follow Ser Brienne around. She was clearly annoyed with him, but Jaime thought she might be softening; especially when he caught her observing him and Sansa. He wanted Brienne to be happy, and part of him wondered about putting her in charge of the Stormlands. After him, she was the highest noble person from that region that they could trust.

Added to their group were Ser Marbrand, Qyburn and Harry Strickland. Thank gods that Cersei had paid the man upon his arrival; Jaime didn't even want to think about the debt the Crown must be in after so many years of war. The people. The land. The sheer devastation that this entire country had been through in the past few years was unprecedented. It was enough to make anyone weep. The task of putting it back together was enough to make Jaime want to cry off and forgot he'd ever agreed to the title. He knew it was craven, but a part of him wanted nothing more than to shuck off the considerable responsibility that had been dumped on their shoulders. He was in awe at how Sansa handled it all. He often sat back and just watched her. She was the true queen this country had been waiting for.

Sandor was never very far from them, even though Jaime could clearly see that he hated being back in the south. Jaime sympathized entirely with the big man. Now that he was here, the war won, Jaime wanted nothing more than ride for the Rock with his wife. His wife that he hadn't seen nearly enough of. Right now, Jaime realized, they were arguing about allowing the Northern army to go home. Not arguing. Debating. An endless debate. He rolled his eyes.

Finally, he leaned forward in his chair and took the direwolf marker and moved it North. Spring was coming. The North had been in turmoil since the outbreak of the War of the Five Kings. And Bran Stark, along with Meera, were firmly entrenched there.

"Go," Jaime all but ordered them. "Your loyalty to your queen is noted. More than noted; applauded and commended. You came when you didn't have to. But the time to return home is now."

Jon frowned. He had been the one who had wanted his army to stay, and he glowered at Jaime. Jaime arched his eyebrow as if to ask if Jon truly wanted this. He'd said no to the Crown when his Aunt had staked her claim, but maybe now without war beating so relentlessly on their door, he'd changed his mind.

Jaime hoped not, only because of the conflict it might cause between Sansa and him. He'd like nothing more than to chuck his figurative Crown at the broody man and say have at it. Jaime would take Sansa to the Sunset Sea and spend his days worshipping her and riding his land, building up the Westerlands to their former glory. But then Jon gave a subtle shake of his head, and Jaime knew he'd never take up the mantle of ruling Westeros and that dream died.

The Lannister army had survived the attack by the Dragon Queen surprisingly well; mostly thanks to him and Ser Marbrand. Jaime had more than enough men to defend the Capital, and once he dismissed the Golden Company, he would be firmly in control of the Crownlands. He knew that people were anxious to go home. Hell, he was as well. There was no point in keeping them here.

Sansa must have seen something in his face, his frustration and anger, for she dismissed everyone from the tent and drug him back to theirs. He hated how there was no real privacy here. No proper bath. Nothing. Just endless time to plot and plan. He was useless at such things, and moreover, hated it. He was stewing in his own brain when he felt his wife wrap her arms around him from behind.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, and he grunted. When he turned, he saw the worry in her face and berated himself. She shouldered so much of the burden, and he was behaving like a petulant child, adding to her responsibilities.

He sighed. "No love, it is me that should apologize. I'm the one who needs to get my head out of my arse," he said with a rueful grin. "It's just all so much. How do we rebuild an entire country?"

Sansa knew he wasn't just talking about the Capital. The Stormlands were an utter mess; devastated by the infighting between Renly and Stannis, left with no true heir.

She had severe doubts about her Uncle's ability to do anything worthwhile in the Riverlands. He seemed almost like a broken man, and he and Jaime hated one another. Her husband had confessed it might have something to do with the fact that he had threatened to bash her Uncle's son against the castle walls when Edmure had refused to yield, but even Sansa knew that awful things were done in wartime. The distrust in her Uncle's face worried her. Still, he was at least loyal to her and perhaps his wife, Roslin might prove more adept than him at ruling the Riverlands. And he already had an heir.

Dorne and the Iron Born might be a problem. She knew neither she nor Jaime wanted to stay in the Crownlands. But who did they leave in charge to rule? She had some ideas. She was sure that she would give Duskendale Castle to Bronn, and Tyrion and Varys were well suited to stay in King's Landing and be their proxies here. There was indeed no other place to send Tyrion if she and Jaime were going back to the Rock, and he seemed to like the Crownlands.

Jon certainty wanted nothing to do with any of it; including Dragonstone. Sansa had insisted that it belonged to him. It was a critical strategic point, and they needed to retain control of it, even if Jon was pissy about it. She knew it was from his time with Dany there, but thinking about what the island had provided them, weapons to fight the dead, and that whether he liked it or not, it did belong to him, Sansa didn't care. She hadn't even let herself contemplate what to do with the dragon yet.

Sansa knew that her cousin Robin was a young man now, and she could only pray that he was ready to assume control of the Vale because she desperately wanted Royce with her for a time when they went to the West. He was the perfect hand, and the man she trusted second most to her husband.

More and more, Sansa had thought about ruling from Casterly Rock for a time. It would give her brother Bran and cousin Jon time to settle the North. She had confidence in Bran and Meera. The ravens from her brother and his… friend, made Bran seem more like himself and less like the three-eyed-raven. With Jon there as well, she knew that her region would prosper.

The final problem was The Reach. It was the second-largest region, the most fertile, the second wealthiest and in utter ruin. The Tyrell's she had known were all gone, and Jaime trusted none of their relatives. She would send a raven and summon Ser Baelor Hightower, eldest son of Leyton and the man known as the Old Man of Oldtown. Ser Baelor was an accomplished knight, heir to House Hightower and a man that was known as a great naval commander. If he pledged House Hightower to them, Sansa would make their house the new Great House of The Reach and Ser Baelor, the Master of Ships. The other nobles would likely respond well to House Hightower being in charge of The Reach, and it would be critical to feeding the masses in the upcoming months. They would need food from their fertile lands to restore Westeros.

Knowing she had done as much as she could, Sansa turned her attention to Jaime. He was miserable. She thought it might have more to do with the location than with ruling, and when she questioned him on it, he confirmed her suspicions.

"It takes a month to get to the Rock. I want us there in time for you to give birth," Jaime said, holding her close to him as he stroked her hair.

She gave him a somewhat incredulous look.

"I don't care, Sansa. My children need to be born at the Rock. I won't negotiate on this. We can rule from there as much as we can from here. Aerys did it much to my father's displeasure."

She gave her consent. She knew this was important to her husband.

"We need a council with all the regions. Including Dorne and the Iron Islands."

He grunted his agreement and then asked about her plans for everywhere else. He liked the idea of the Hightower's being in charge of the Reach and flat out laughed when she told him what castle she was giving Bronn. He knew the sellsword wouldn't worry about the reputation of such a place. While it made him sad to think of Tyrion staying behind in King's Landing, he knew as well as Sansa it was the best place for him.

"And the Stormlands, love?" Jaime asked, kissing her softly.

"Brienne and Ser Davos. They will rule in your stead, Jaime."

He arched an eyebrow at that. "What about our recently elevated bastard?"

Sansa shook her head. "Gendry is to busy chasing after my sister and he is in no place to rule." She knew it was harsh but true. He hadn't been born into this life and had no formal training. It would be a disaster to situate him there. Even Brienne might encounter some resistance, but she was a true born woman and a knight. She'd more than proven herself in the wars, and she deserved a chance to see if she could make something in the Stormlands.

Jaime let his hand drift down to rest on Sansa's stomach. He felt more settled now that she seemed to have a plan. She turned in his arms.

"We cannot just grant regions independence. Not yet, Jaime. And I'm sorry because that means we will have to be King and Queen for longer than I anticipated. But eventually, if they have stable economies, food and trade, a plan for their small folk and proper rights of inheritance, it will be possible. We might even become nine or ten independent regions of Westeros."

Jaime was in such awe of her. "You are brilliant, little wolf." She blushed, and Jaime was swept away by how much he loved her. Even now, with nothing but power in her hands, she fought to make this world better for everyone. He knew he had to do better to support her. "Summon the noble houses. Let us hash this out and then leave the rebuilding to Tyrion and Varys. We will give everyone their assignments and be on our way to the Rock, my love."

Sansa grinned and kissed him, long and deep, and then snuggled into his arms. She was exhausted these days; pregnant and trying to rule a broken Kingdom, and Jaime was happy to hold her as she slept.

It took a month until all the players were there, in King's Landing. Of course, they'd chosen the dragon pit as the place to meet. Sandor wandered around, kicking at rocks and muttering how much he hated it here. It seemed like every bad idea started in this hellish place. Jaime had found him the other day and told him as soon as things were settled with the noble houses, they were making for Casterly Rock. He'd also mentioned, that with Gregor now dead, Sandor had a keep of his own.

He barked out a harsh laugh, but Jaime just slapped him on the back. "Gold is no issue, Sandor. Whatever you need, we can fix up Clegane Keep for you." Sandor had confirmed he would stay by Jaime and Sansa's side, wherever they went. North, West, he didn't much care. He thought about his childhood home, the trauma he'd suffered there. But maybe it would be different being back in the West and not having his brother or Tywin looming over them.

There had been significant progress made on the cleaning of the city streets, but Sansa thought it was the height of idiocy to have a meeting in the old Throne room and thankfully, everyone agreed with her.

Her cousin from the Vale had arrived, and Sansa was pleased to see that he appeared to have grown up tremendously since she had last seen him.

Ser Baelor Hightower had also arrived from the Reach and seemed delighted by his invitation. Sansa had spent significant time speaking with him, along with Lord Royce. Jaime knew by the man's body language alone he would take Highgarden and pledge to them. The prize was too high, and they'd been angling for it for years. With the new Crown, Jaime and Sansa, backing their claim, the Florent's were in no position to challenge anyone. Sansa made it abundantly clear that The Reach needed to be producing food again as soon as possible, and there were dozens of Hightower's and heirs to put in critical positions. Ser Baelor almost salivated when the Queen told him that they had Euron Greyjoy's fleet, and Jaime and Lord Royce watched in astonishment as Sansa won another loyal follower to her side. She had been born to rule.

Samwell Tarly also had a decision to make. He could become Lord Tarly and live with his lover and his son at Horn Hill, or he could go back to Oldtown and the Citadel and continue his studies. Nobody was quite sure what the man would decide, although Sansa hoped he'd take his rightful place and give them another ally in that region. Sansa had no idea how he thought he might go back to the Citadel with Gilly and baby Sam trailing after him; more to the point, he'd stolen from the Maester's, and even though his knowledge had been critical in the war, Sansa knew those in Oldtown would not look kindly on him for doing so.

Bran and Meera had not travelled to the meeting. Bran's raven indicated that the Queen of Westeros was more than capable of speaking for the North and that they were content where they were.

The new Dornish Prince was a young and handsome man, and Jaime caught him staring at Sansa on more than one occasion. Thankfully his wife was starting to show in her pregnancy. Jaime made it a point to be beside her whenever the Prince was speaking to her. He also cupped her stomach, drawing attention to the fact that he had got his heirs on the Queen.

The Prince was a distant cousin of Dornan Martell and did not seem to have the anger, nor the aggressive attitude of the Red Viper. He promised Sansa within a day that he would support their reign, although he remained committed to his title. Jaime rolled his eyes at the southern region's idiosyncrasies.

The biggest issue was Yara Greyjoy. She showed up with a fleet of ships, although since Jaime and Baelor had her Uncle's, there was no way it wouldn’t result in the complete destruction of her navy if she attacked them.

When all the players had been assembled in their seats, Jaime and Sansa took their place. Yara objected immediately, stating that they were criminals and that Jaime was now both a king and queen slayer. Before her husband could react, Sansa pinned Yara with a steely glare.

"The twenty Ironborn who fought the Night King did so valiantly, Lady Greyjoy. I did not see you there."

Yara coloured and said nothing.

"And when this dragon queen started murdering the innocent citizens of King's Landing, and Great Houses came together to stop her, where was the Iron Born then?"

"The King in the North pledge himself to her. He bent the knee," Yara claimed, shooting a deadly glare at Jon.

"There is no King in the North. There is only the King and Queen of Westeros. The throne was taken by conquest, by Robert Baratheon. Through all the laws of Westeros, the line of inheritance runs through the Baratheons. Jaime Lannister is the true King of Westeros. Not his sister. Not Daenerys Targaryen. Jaime. His great-great-great-grandfather married a Baratheon, Lady Greyjoy. Unlike the Iron Islands, the Great Houses of Westeros do follow the laws of succession."

"The Dragon Queen was the rightful heir," Yara started to say before Sansa interrupted again.

"She was not. The Targaryen's took Westeros through conquest and ruled for three-hundred years until houses rose up in revolt and took back the throne by conquest. By all laws of Westeros, my husband has been the true heir since Tommen Baratheon died."

Yara looked angry. Beyond angry. "The Iron Born can either yield and go back to your home, or my fleet will be happy to send you to a watery grave," Jaime said, conversationally. He was tired of death and war, and he would not be lectured by the likes of Yara. Not when he'd seen first-hand what the queen she had supported had wanted to do to King's Landing.

"And how do we know you are any different from any of the previous King's or Queen's?”

"You don't." That came from Tyrion. He stood and looked at the assembled lords and ladies. He held out his hands. "We've been at war for almost a decade. Great Houses wiped from the map. Entire regions almost brought to their knees. Right now, we need order and hope and two people we can follow. We need Jaime and Sansa. There is no one else. There is no other choice."

Arya and Jon stood. "The North stands with Jaime and Sansa."

Lord Royce and Robin rose as one. "As does the Vale."

Edmure, along with his wife Roslin rose. "And the Riverlands."

Brienne and Ser Davos stood. "We speak for those in the Stormlands, and we are pledged to the King and Queen."

Ser Baelor Hightower then rose. "As does The Reach."

Bronn and Varys stood. "The Crownlands are theirs."

Tyrion turned, "I doubt it needs to be stated, but the West supports them both."

Finally, the Dornish Prince rose. "Dorne will support your reign."

That left the Iron Islands. Yara was beaten, and she knew it. She gave a quick nod. With that all but settled Sansa and Jaime rose as others took their seats.

"The most pressing issue is security; both food and personal. Return to your regions and begin work to restore crops, homes and economies. No region shall raise an army greater than ten thousand men without permission from the Crown. Take stock of which houses are left. Ravens will be sent to Casterly Rock, where Jaime and I will rule from for now. If there are unoccupied castles, make a case for which of your houses should inherit. Skirmishes within your borders will be handled by those here today."

There was chatter as Sansa sat. Some objected to the size of each region's army. With so much war behind them, Sansa wondered if there was even a region that could muster that many men. The Dornish perhaps, but the Prince remained quiet.

Some were upset they were abandoning the castle, which then required further explanation from Sansa.

"Lord Tyrion and Lord Varys will remain in the Capital to oversee its reconstruction. For now, as is his birthright, Jon Snow will be given Dragonstone."

Jon glowered at Sansa, but there was nothing to be done, and to be honest, she was tired of his broodiness. "I'm trying to rebuild a country, Jon. Surely the least you could do was drop into your family seat and ensure we are not being attacked by pirates," Sansa all but snapped at him. He must have seen something in her face, for he gave a rueful grin and nodded.

"Samwell Tarly, will you retake your family seat, or go to the Citadel to become a Maester?" Sansa asked Jon's friend. He glanced around nervously and then smiled.

"Gilly and I will go to Horn Hill, Your Grace. You have a loyal ally in House Tarly."

Sansa nodded, not letting her relief show.

"What about the Stormlands's, Your Grace?" Gendry asked. He looked pale and was sitting beside Arya. Sansa met his gaze and hoped her eyes convinced him to trust her.

"Ser Davos and Ser Brienne. Since the Stormlands have been utterly devastated, and Ser Jaime is technically heir to them as well, you will return there and rule as his proxy. Ser Brienne, your service as my shield has been exemplary. Without you, I surely would have died. Jaime would have died. We are forever in your debt, and we know you will do us proud when you take your place at Storm's End."

Sansa looked to Gendry and Arya and saw nothing but relieved looks on both their faces. Sansa met Arya's eyes. "Thank you, Your Grace," Arya said and bowed to Sansa, then grinned.

Jaime spoke then and turned his attention to Bronn. "Ser Bronn of the Blackwater." Bronn rose and grinned at Jaime. "As promised, your castle as a reward. Duskendale." Bronn startled for a moment then threw his head back and laughed.

"Jaime fucking Lannister," he said, shaking his head in glee. He hadn't honestly thought they'd give him one, and certainly not one in the Crownlands.

All that was left was to name a small council of sorts.

"For now," Jaime said, "Lord Varys will remain the Master of Whispers in the Capital, along with Tyrion as Master of Coin. Ser Baelor you have been named Master of Ships. Ser Marbrand is remaining behind in the Capital with ten thousand Lannister forces and is the Commander of the City Guard and Master of Laws."

"And your hand?" someone asked.

Sansa's eyes rose to Lord Royce. "It is an impossible thing I ask of you. You are my dearest friend, my second father and other than my husband, there is no one I trust more. You have been away from home for so long, and this would take you even further. To the opposite side of Westeros." She had tears in her eyes. Sansa couldn't help it. He had been the man that had saved her home, who had come when she had asked for help and who had stood by her side. He had never betrayed her, and he alone had restored her trust.

He moved quickly then and took her in his arms. "Your Grace, I would be honoured," Lord Royce said, his voice thick with emotion. "I will go wherever you command, Lady Sansa."

"Thank you," she whispered and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Pod stood. "I'd like to become one of your Queensguard. Or Kingsguard. Not sure how that might work."

Sansa and Jaime laughed. "The last appointments then. Sandor Clegane, step forward."

Sandor all but growled at them as he stepped forward. He looked at Sansa. "Little bird, what is going on in that mind of yours."

Sansa smiled. He was the only man in the entire world who could get away with not calling her by her proper title. "Be the Commander of our guard, Sandor. Not because you love killing, but because you are our family. Please."

Sandor huffed out a breath. He shot a look at Pod. "You ready boy?" Pod nodded eagerly, no longer a boy, but knowing that Sandor saw him as such. "Alright, little bird, Kingslayer. I'll be your Commander. But I won't wear a fucking white cloak. I'm done with that shit."

Sansa and Jaime laughed. With the most essential items settled, Sansa was prepared to dismiss them all, until a small cough from Jon and Tyrion made her pause.

"There is one thing that is yet to be done, Your Graces," Jon said, and he was smiling at Sansa. It reminded her of when they were children, and Jon had, on occasion, japed with them. "I'm new to how things happen in the south, but Tyrion assures me that a Queen must have a crown."

Sansa looked stunned. She hadn't even considered it. Sansa had been so busy this past month just trying to put Westeros back together. She felt Jaime squeeze her hand and looked to him. He was grinning. Suddenly, and she had no idea how Jon was holding a silver crown in his hands. It was delicate, but the meaning was clear. There were two direwolves, and she felt her eyes tear. Arya stepped up to stand by Jon. Her voice was loud and clear, and everyone could hear it.

"All hail her grace, Sansa of Houses Lannister and Stark. First of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." A great cheer rose from those in the dusty dragon pit.

Sansa had enough presence of mind to bend her knees slightly, so her family could place the Crown on her head. When she straightened, Jaime swung her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her mouth. "My Queen."

"Jaime," she said, completely overwhelmed.

"Not so fast, brother," Tyrion said, grinning. In his hand was a matching crown, more masculine and with lions, but fundamentally the same, except for being the colour of Lannister gold.

Jaime grinned and kneeled as Tyrion spoke his new titles, and then placed the Crown on his head. "Well done, brother," Tyrion said before Jaime rose and pulled Sansa closer. The shouts were loud and happy. Everyone knew a formal coronation would need to happen, once things had been restored. But for now, Westeros had crowned its new King and Queen.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone leaves King's Landing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters are basically a love letter to Casterly Rock. If you don't think that the Rock is the greatest castle in Westeros, well, not too sure why you're reading Jaimsa :)

Within two weeks of the peace accord, the Dornish and Iron Born were gone, followed quickly by Bronn who was anxious to claim his castle. Sam and Gilly had been some of the first to depart for his family's seat. Sansa could see the excitement on his face, and she wished him well. Sansa and Jaime had secured promises that all parties at the dragon pit meeting would meet again in a year.

Sansa was confident with the people they had left in the Capital, and she knew that they could trust Tyrion. Davos and Brienne were close, located in the Stormlands, Bronn would do whatever necessary to protect his castle and her cousin now had Dragonstone. Additionally, Ser Marbrand was devoted to Jaime, and the Lannister's currently had one of the largest armies left in Westeros. Being named head of the City Watch, Ser Marbrand controlled King’s Landing.

Sansa and Jaime both liked Ser Baelor Hightower, and the man was excited to have a real fleet on his hands with Euron's ships now belonging to the Capital.

It also helped Sansa feel assured leaving the Capital, knowing that Jon was a dragon ride away. While she knew exactly what a dragon could do, and it might be the height of hypocrisy to use one now that it was on her side, she simply could not be everywhere. Knowing that at the very least, Jon could fly somewhere fast, was a benefit if there were problems somewhere in the kingdom. She trusted Jon and knew he would never use Rhaegal the way that Dany had used Drogon. He had too much Stark blood in him.

Rhaegal and Jon had bonded since he had arrived at Harrenhal. Jon often rode the dragon; they both needed the connection. Sansa had no idea what they were going to do a fully-grown dragon. They lived for years longer than most humans. Jon had tried to explain his bond with the beast one day to Sansa. Rhaegal was mourning; he'd lost his mother and his two brothers. It meant that he was sticking close to Jon, whom he viewed as his family. Sansa tried to understand, but her bond with Lady had been so short, it was a bit of a struggle. Still, she had to trust that Jon knew what he was doing. 

"There's a freedom when I ride him," Jon explained one night in Sansa and Jaime's tent. Jaime and Jon were drinking wine and chatting, with Jon being set to leave in a few days’ time.

Jaime wanted to trust Jon, but it was hard when he'd seen just how destructive a dragon could be. He hated that one had been left alive. To date, they had no answers for what to do with him.

There had been an evening when Jon had taken Jaime to the dragon and he knew this wasn’t simply a mindless beast but a magical creature. Even Jaime could see the dragon was mourning, and he keened as Jon touched him, stroking his scales. Jaime had worked up the courage to touch him, and Rhaegal had snorted softly, a sound of pain contained within it.

"Will you take him North?" Jaime asked.

Jon nodded. He was headed back to Winterfell to check in on Bran, and then he was going to go further and see how the Wildlings were faring in Castle Black and beyond. He promised them he'd be available by raven and he would come south often.

For now, Sansa had to trust that the might of the Lannister army. And that Jon's dragon was enough to keep everyone in line.

Arya and Gendry, as they had indicated, were leaving on an adventure. There was no other word for it. Part of Sansa was annoyed, if only because her sister managed to shuck responsibility again like she always had when they had been children, leaving Sansa to rule the entire country while she chased her dreams. But Sansa knew if she had pushed Arya, her sister would have rebelled and gone anyways. This way she maintained their relationship that had become so close.

Arya had asked for a ship and Jaime had willingly given her one and then spent four weeks getting it ready to sail. When asked where they were going, she grinned. "West of Westeros." Jaime laughed and hugged her.

"Stay in touch, Queenslayer." Then he cupped her face. "And we are on the West, traveller. Visit."

"Is that an order?"

"Yes. Or else you'll break Sansa's heart."

They both looked at Sansa, the Queen of Westeros, who was trying to hold back the tears. Her stomach was growing more prominent by the day, and a Maester had all but confirmed that she was pregnant with twins. She looked utterly devastated at Arya’s leaving.

"I know. I will," Arya said softly. "Take care of her Jaime."

"With my life, Arya. I promise."

She knew he would. No one loved Sansa as much as Jaime.

She turned to find Sandor, looking angry and uncomfortable, which wasn't unusual. He cupped her face gruffly when she stood in front of him.

"You did well. In there," Sandor said, jerky a thumb back towards the Red Keep.

"So, did you."

"Be safe."

"I will." She paused. "Thank you, Sandor. For staying with her. And everything you did for me. For us.”

He grunted and nodded and then turned and walked away. Arya would be back. She might have a desire to see what was beyond the horizon, but she loved her family, that much Sandor knew to be true.

That left Jon and Sansa. Jon hugged Arya tightly. "Use your sword if you need too," he whispered into her ear unnecessarily. "And come back, Arry," he all but pleaded with her. She nodded into his neck and promised she would.

When they finally parted, Arya turned to Sansa. Her sister had tears streaming down her face as she held out her arms. Arya hugged her hard. "Come home, please, Arya." Sansa's voice almost broke. Her sister was twenty-one, almost twenty-two. She’d been on her own for years and had survived everything so far. Sansa had to believe she would come back to her, safe and whole.

"I will, sweet sister. You're so well-loved, Sansa. You're doing precisely what you should be doing."

"You always have a place. Either in the West or the North."

"I know. I need to do this Sansa. But I'll be back."

With one last hug and a kiss on her cheek, Arya handed her sobbing sister over to Jaime, who wrapped his arms around her.

Then she looked at Gendry and grinned as they boarded their ship. She had direwolves put everywhere, and excitement thrummed through her as they set sail.

Sansa stood in Jaime's arms as she watched her sister get smaller and smaller until she was gone. Jaime gently led her back to their tent, where she sobbed in his arms until she fell asleep.

It was no more comfortable saying goodbye to Jon, watching him fly away. The Northern Army had left a month ago, and Jon was determined to fly up the King's Road to make sure the peace they had negotiated was holding. Once again, Sansa was an emotional mess, and it was Jaime who was left to comfort her. Thankfully, he had discovered, he had a talent for it.

Sansa hadn't been nearly as emotional when her cousin Robin or her Uncle Edmure had left. Her cousin had the Vale Knights who’d been in Winterfell with him and promised her he’d rule the Eyrie well. She hugged him hard and wished him a safe passage. Things were still quite unsettled between her and her Uncle and he was a weak man. Sansa worried if any of his vassal houses might rise up against him, but for now, she had to trust he’d find his way. He’d barely speak to her if Jaime was by her side, which was often, which made things awkward and uncomfortable for everyone.

Once Jon was gone, Sansa, Jaime, Yohn, Pod and Sandor were set to leave for the Westerlands, leaving Sansa to say goodbye to Brienne.

It was as equally as emotional as saying goodbye to Arya. This woman had saved her, delivered her to Jon and kept her safe. She had always had Sansa's best interests at heart and had worked tirelessly to fulfill her vow to Sansa's mother.

"I release you from your vow, Brienne. You have fulfilled it admirably," Sansa whispered into her ear. They were clutching at one another, both crying ugly tears.

"Be happy, Lady Sansa. If you need me, you summon me immediately."

Sansa nodded and then went and stood by Lord Royce as Jaime and Brienne said goodbye.

Jaime knew that had she had her way, things might have been different between him and Brienne. Even without romantic feelings, he had been through stuff with Brienne of Tarth that almost no one else could understand. She'd forced him to confront the awful man he'd been, and they'd saved one another time and again. His wife was alive because of Brienne, and for that, he would always be grateful to the large woman.

She gave her a wry smile. "I suppose your vow has been fulfilled as well, Ser Jaime."

He glanced at his wife, who was leaning against Lord Royce. "Never. I will protect her until the day I die. I had no idea what making that promise to Catelyn Stark might bring me."

Brienne knew him well enough to know that Jaime cared little for the golden crown on his head and only for Sansa.

"You are good for one another. You are the rulers we need, Ser Jaime. Remember that," Brienne said, and he grinned.

"Always lecturing me, Ser Brienne. Take care of the Stormlands for me."

She nodded and bowed to him before she turned and strode away. To everyone's surprise, Tormund had decided to follow Brienne to the Stormlands. He always bitched about the south and how much he hated it, but he loved the large woman, and she was staying, and he was willing to follow her. Jaime howled when he heard that and wondered what Brienne's father would think of the Wildling. Or if Brienne might ever give him a chance.

It took six additional weeks until the King and Queen were ready to leave, but by then they were finally ready to depart to the Westerlands.

The day they were set to leave for the West, Sansa had indicated she to wanted be on a horse, but Jaime put his foot down with her pregnancy and insisted she ride in a litter.

"When we are closer, I will allow you to ride, my love," he told her.

Her eyebrows raised at the command in his voice. She could see the worry on his face, and his nervousness that they had waited too long to travel. Spring had come to the south, and that meant the road might be rutted and muddy. She had consented, but only once she'd wrangled a promise from him that she wanted to ride when the Rock came into view.

Sansa spent the night before they left speaking to Tyrion and Jaime about Casterly Rock. Jaime was beyond excited, and she wanted to know exactly what to expect. It was fascinating to watch the brother’s bond and share memories of their home with her.

They told her that it was a massive castle, the greatest in the Kingdom. The castle rose out of a great stone hill beside the Sunset Sea. The base of the Rock contained vast sea-carved caverns where they had been mined for thousands of years. Jaime explained that there were still untouched gold veins, which they both knew, would be required to restore Westeros and get the Crown out of debt.

The Rock was said to be three times the height of the Wall and almost two leagues long from west to east and contained tunnels, dungeons, storerooms, barracks, halls, stables, courtyards, balconies and gardens, as well as a sept. The Lion's Mouth, the main entry to Casterly Rock, had an enormous natural cavern reaching two hundred feet high. Its steps were wide enough for twenty riders. Its port had docks, piers, and shipyards and was accessible by longships. It was, they stated, a castle without equal in all of Westeros.

"There is also the Golden Gallery, which contains all the treasures of the Lannister's, including gilded ornaments and walls. Then there is the Hall of Heroes, where the Lannister's and their close kin who have died are interred. The armour of dead Lannister's is also displayed in the Hall."

No said anything, but they all knew Tywin rested in the Golden Gallery, while Cersei would not. Jaime would never ask that of Sansa, and it felt wrong, given the sheer pain his twin had brought to Westeros. She was no hero.

Sansa could hear the pride in both Jaime and Tyrion's voices as they spoke of their family seat. Jaime pulled her onto his lap where she happily snuggled in.

"It has never been breached my love," Jaime said, stroking her back and enjoying having her in his arms. "It has its own granaries. I estimate that we could withstand a siege for five years.”

Sansa's eyes widened at that statement. "Truly, Jaime?" She had worried incessantly in the North about how to feed her people. Hearing the Rock could command such stores was stunning.

"Yes, little wolf. If my ancestors had not ridden out on the field of fire, I doubt even dragons could have taken it. It is the safest place for you, our children and our court, Sansa."

She was lost in her husband's eyes, his devotion and love for her and their children more than apparent, that she almost missed Tyrion's reaction.

He coughed, and Jaime gave him an amused look. "I abandoned it to allow the Unsullied to breach its walls, brother. That was not an attack but a strategic decision."

In truth, Jaime had gained the idea from Robb Stark and his humiliating defeat at Whispering Wood years ago, but that would bring up too many painful memories now.

Tyrion laughed, deep into his cups. "It was, and one I didn't see coming." Tyrion paused and looked at his brother and good sister, the new King and Queen. "Father would be proud, Jaime."

Jaime grunted, but they both knew it was the absolute truth. Tywin had always known Sansa was the key to the North, and somehow, Jaime thought, had he been alive today, the Great Lion would respect and like his wife. She was a singularly stunning creature, and Tywin Lannister held the family in the highest accord. It was an ache in both Jaime and Sansa that none of their parents would know their children.

"A wife, a crown, an heir and a Kingdom." Tyrion snorted. "You really are the golden lion." Tyrion saluted him then with his cup. He was slightly bitter, having thought once upon a time that Jaime’s wife and castle might have been his. But even he couldn’t deny their love for one another.

Jaime knew that Tyrion had asked for the Rock and had been soundly denied by their father. He thought to how much he had fought taking his rightful place, angering his father and putting such distance between them. Somehow knew that he'd had to go on the journey he had to end up where he was. It wasn’t meant to be his before this moment.

Tyrion and Sansa tearfully parted the next morning, both having gone through so much and some of it together. "Take care of the Capital for us, brother."

He promised he would. He was comfortable here. Jaime had a feeling Tyrion would never marry again. They'd never spoken of it, but he'd never fathered a bastard to either of their knowledge, no matter how many whores he bedded. And Tyrion was too bitter and disillusioned to seek what Jaime had. He still held himself responsible for the Dragon Queen and had drunkenly confessed that it felt that Jaime had once again cleaned up his mess.

When he and Jaime embraced, there were tears and hugs. There was pain in their past; Tyrion's first wife and Jaime's role, Tyrion's murder of their father. But there was also love and camaraderie against a cruel and indifferent father and a mad sister.

"Be safe, Jaime. Rule well."

"We will see you after the children arrive, Tyrion." The small council had been ordered to the Rock once the babies came, and Tyrion promised they would come.

Now, after a month of riding, they were within a couple of days of the Rock. Sansa saw the excitement on his face, and she knew she would be able to join him for the last part of the journey to their new home. Despite being mid-pregnancy, Sansa wouldn’t miss this for anything, and thankfully, Jaime agreed.

When they crowned the final hill, Jaime stopped the entire Lannister army that was behind them, and the carriage in which she travelled. He helped her from the carriage, smiling in delight as she walked awkwardly, stiff from sitting for so long. He covered her eyes as they walked the last few steps, and when he pulled his hands away, he was standing behind her, holding her to his chest, excited for her reaction.

"Look, my little wolf. Casterly Rock," Jaime breathed into her ear. She gasped when she saw it in all its glory. It was a sight to be sure. The Lannister brothers hadn't exaggerated; it was the largest and most stunning castle she had ever seen. It put every other one she'd seen to shame, including Winterfell. No wonder the Lannister's were so arrogant when that was your family's seat.

"Jaime," she turned, the utter delight on her face unmistakable. "There aren't words, my love," she said honestly.

He was grinning. "I love it, Sansa. I know it's insanely large, almost arrogantly so. But it is my home, my love. Our home now." He meant every word. His home was now hers. This magnificent castle was as much hers as his. She’d never known a man with a more generous heart than Jaime. He gave so freely when he was allowed, unshackled from the impossible expectations that had been set upon him by Cersei and his father.

She understood why he wanted his children, children that would finally bear his name, to be born here. She felt the same pull at Winterfell, but if there was a second place, where she could make her home, it was here.

"Why on earth would anyone choose King's Landing over here?" she asked. Then she wondered why Tywin had ever left it for the stink and rot of King’s Landing.

Jaime shook his head. He had no idea. When he thought about it, he realized he hated the Red Keep and the Capital and always had. He much preferred to be in the West and that much was more than apparent now that he had the Rock in his sights.

The land leading up to the Rock was lush and green, and the sheer size of the castle before them was staggering.

"I have no idea," Jaime said honestly. He had resisted taking his rightful place as the heir to the Rock and now he could hardly imagine why. Of course, he knew that he had more to do with Cersei and less with the family seat. Now with this woman who was everything to him, with his wife, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else. He knew why his father was proud of the Rock and the knowledge that his children with Sansa would see this place as home warmed every part of him.

Jaime knew the importance of image and allowed a white horse to be saddled for Sansa, so the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms could be seen by everyone. He rode by her side, smiling and checking on her constantly. She was overwhelmed by how much he cared.

As they made their way towards the Rock, peasants and small folk had lined the Gold Road, eager to see not only the new King but their Liege Lord return. The ravens Tyrion had sent throughout the realm when the notion of Jaime and Sansa being King and Queen had still been more dream than reality, had stoked people's hopes and curiosity. Soon enough, the people saw that the Queen’s beauty had not been exaggerated, nor had time stolen Jaime's golden looks.

Sansa had chosen a gown of white and gold, along with her silver direwolf crown, her red hair was long and loose. Spring had come fast and fierce to the Westerlands, and after the cold of the North, and the fire and destruction of King's Landing, everything felt fresh and hopeful here. Her pregnant form was prominent, and no one could deny the next heirs were one their way. The people of the Westerlands rejoiced at the rebirth that the season promised, secure in their knowledge that the Golden Lion had returned home and would defend his people from all threats.

When Sansa gazed upon her husband, she saw he'd chosen to wear his red and gold Lannister armour once again. She'd caught him fingering the red sash that ran the length of his chest and pooled in this lap.

"Where did that come from?" she asked him, content to finally be out of the carriage. Their pace was slow, almost languid as Jaime would take no chances with her or their babies.

He hesitated for a second. "It was my father's. Ser Marbrand gave it to me before the final battle." When she didn't object, he continued, and Sansa could see the love on his face. Whatever Jaime's faults, lack of feeling wasn’t one of them. He loved so deeply, more than any man she'd ever known, even those who didn’t deserve his feelings.

"He always wore it into battle. He was a sight to see. Lannister red and gold, on a white destrier, always. He liked to make an impression." Jaime almost snorted at what an understatement that was. Tywin Lannister had been a vain man and for good reason. Impressions mattered.

"Do you forgive Tyrion, for his role in your father's death?"

Jaime sighed. It was a sore subject and one he knew that neither he nor Tyrion had adequately resolved. He could look at his wife, his beautiful, loving, intelligent wife, and be beyond pleased with how things had turned out in the end. But also loved his father, and couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had Tywin lived. Perhaps not quite so much death and destruction. Or maybe more. It was impossible to know.

"Not yet. Perhaps not ever." He paused. "But I've made peace with it."

It took the rest of the day before they were at the entrance to the Rock. Sansa had enjoyed the fresh air and the chance to gaze upon her new home as it slowly came closer. She wondered how many times she might get lost in such a Castle. As if Jaime knew what she was thinking, he gave her a broad smile, and her heart thudded.

He winked. "I won't let you get lost, little wolf."

She shook her head. "You'd better not."

He waggled his eyebrows. "Trust me, my love. I have no intention of letting you out of my sight."

Sansa felt the desire thrum through her body at his words. It had been a hellish few months. Even their time in Winterfell had been overshadowed by the Dragon Queen and her constant threats. They'd spent six weeks apart from one another as they'd had different roles in the war against Cersei. And afterwards, they'd had to negotiate peace, rebuild Westeros and had almost no privacy camped in tents outside the city walls.

Sansa longed for time. Time to be alone with Jaime, to love him and to be together without constant threats hanging over their heads. It was almost in her grasp and she could practically taste it.

When they arrived at the massive entrance, they were met by Genna and her husband Emmon Frey along with several Lannister cousins and relatives.

Jaime frowned upon seeing Genna. The last he'd seen his Aunt; she had been at Riverrun after they had taken it from Edmure Tully. Clearly with Sansa's Uncle now released from the Frey's she had come home. He would stand for none of her posturings now that he was King and had a wife. He had plans to ship her and Emmon to the Twins. They would be loyal to them and secure a critical crossing point going North.

When he told Sansa his plan, her face lit. "Jaime that is brilliant."

He felt her praise warm him. The most shocking part for Jaime was, she meant every word. Sansa saw him in a way few ever had. She saw his worth beyond a mere sword or the position of his birth. She thought he was worthy of this Crown that sat upon his head and her love. It had changed him in ways that he was sure his father would have been stunned to see.

After rounds of introductions, Genna swept their procession into the castle and called for stewards to see them to their rooms. When it was only Jaime, Sansa and his aunt, the eldest Lannister took in the new Queen of Westeros, from her silver direwolf Crown, milk-white skin, clear pregnant stomach and beauty. Jaime practically hovered over her, shooting warning looks to Genna to mind her tongue.

"Welcome to Casterly Rock, Lady Lannister," Genna said, and Jaime growled. Genna coughed and then curtseyed. "My apologies. Welcome to the Rock, Your Grace."

"Lady Sansa is Queen, Genna. Anything she wants, it will be hers."

Genna nodded. "How far are you feeling?"

Sansa smiled and placed her hands on her stomach. "Five months, Lady Genna. With twins,” as if that answered the question.

The Lannister woman's eyebrows rose at that statement, then she threw back her head and laughed. "Gods, if only Ty were alive to see you, Jaime. He'd be proud." She cupped his face and tapped him lightly. "I've taken the liberty of preparing the Lord's chambers for you both."

Jaime thanked her and then grabbed Sansa's hand. He hadn't even given a thought as to where they might stay once, they had arrived here, but he was infinitely grateful to have that decision taken out of his hands. He couldn't have imagined bringing her to his old chambers.

When they entered the Lord's chambers, Jaime was swept up in a wave of nostalgia from when he was young. He'd always been welcome in his parents' chambers, especially when his father had been away from the Rock. His mother had always allowed him access, despite the endless tasks that had been laid at her feet, running such an enormous estate. Jaime also remembered the devotion of his father, the love that the Great Lion had for Joanna. His mother was kind and gentle, but firm and his father trusted in her abilities to manage the Rock when he wasn't here.

When Jaime thought of who his father was before his mother died and afterwards, Jaime finally understood, looking at Sansa. He had no idea what he might do, should he lose her. The grief he felt at Cersei's death would be nothing compared to losing Sansa.

Despite the slightly melancholy memories washing over him, some good, some not, Jaime felt a peace that he hadn't realized he'd been missing settle over him. The Rock was safety and home. He pulled Sansa to his side and captured his lips.

"Welcome to my home, my love," he murmured into her ear, and she giggled softly.

"It really is stunning, Jaime."

Eagerly he showed her the huge terrace off the Lord's chambers that overlooked the Sunset Sea. He felt the warmth of the sun wash over them and knew winter was well and truly gone. Sansa gasped at the view as they stood in each other's arms.

"Tonight, when you are in my arms, we'll keep the doors open. It is warm, and you'll fall asleep, safe, and loved and knowing you've brought peace to the realm, little wolf."

Sansa turned and tilted her head to his. He pressed his lips to hers. Both had tears in their eyes. For now, they were home; survivors who had somehow beaten all the odds to find one another.


	20. Chapter 20

Sansa stood in the Lord and Lady's chambers of Casterly Rock, stunned by everything she had seen. Jaime’s home was, without doubt, unmatched in all of Westeros. The pride with which Jaime and Tyrion had spoken of the Rock was apparent now that she was here. She had never seen anything like it in all her days. And the surprises kept coming.

Adjoining their bedchamber was a bathing room that honestly had no equal; it had to be as large as the King’s chambers in the Red Keep alone. Jaime was delighted when she gasped at the hot water on demand. He'd sent word to his castellan over his wife's preferences and was happy to see small bottles of her oils and soaps lined up neatly. It was no wonder the Lannister’s were this arrogant having grown up with such luxury. It was impossible not to feel like the most pampered woman in the entire Kingdom living here.

When Jaime brought Sansa back into their chambers, for they would be sharing of that there was no doubt, he indicated the larger desk had been set up for her to work and then, eager as a boy with a puppy, all but dragged her to the wardrobe that contained countless gowns and clothing that he had commissioned especially for her. She gasped at the sight and let her hands run over them. They were stunning creations and she could see he’d spared no expense.

She'd abandoned the leather armour type gown she'd worn in Winterfell within a couple of weeks of being in the south. It was too warm, and her pregnancy was progressing too quickly for her to continue wearing them. But knowing about the marks on her body, she didn't want ever to wear what she had before when she'd been in King's Landing previously. Tyrion had found a seamstress to work on clothing for her, and Sansa had packed that which she had made but had never imagined Jaime being so thoughtful and she could see he’d had the style she’d taken to wearing copied for the dresses that now adorned her new wardrobe.

Finally, he brought her to a small dresser and swallowed. "My mother kept all the jewelry my father ever gave her in these drawers, Sansa. He loved her deeply." Jaime had already checked, and no one had been bold enough to rummage through the Great Lion's chambers; not even his aunt. He thanked the gods for this small mercy.

When Jaime opened the drawers, Sansa gasped as the sheer opulence before her. She reached out to tentatively finger some of the pieces, her eyes catching on a delicate looking one that looked like a woven net, dotted with rubies. She looked to Jaime, a question in her eyes.

"I thought, for the longest time, that my father would have melted all her jewels. His grief was so all-encompassing that there was no way I could conceive he would have kept any reminders of her. But when I was here, I discovered he hadn't. He'd kept it all. He begged me, begged me to find a wife, to marry and take my place here. I want to think," Jaime said, plucking the necklace Sansa had touched, and securing it around her neck, "that he wanted me to find love, as much as he wanted an heir." He paused and admired his mother's necklace on her. "She wore that piece, daily, Sansa.”

Sansa fingered it and looked back to Jaime. "Is it alright for me to wear it?”

He smiled softly and nodded. "I would drape you in jewels, my love. And not just my mother’s, although they are all yours now. Somehow, I think it would please my father for my wife to have them.”

He hauled her to her feet, kissing her soundly and touching the necklace around her neck almost reverently. The sun was setting, and he could see the fatigue in her face.

"Come, wife, let us bathe, and I will call for us to dine in our rooms. Then I want to make love with my wife, in our home."

Sansa pressed her lips to his and wound her hands around his neck. "I love you, Jaime. And I am happy to be here." It was nothing less than the truth. Being here at Casterly Rock felt like a new chapter in their lives; a chance to begin their lives with nothing but love and support for one another.

He undressed her slowly, kissing each part of her that he exposed. For the first time since they had married, they had no direct threat looming over them. There were no dragons to burn them alive, no Cersei and no Dany. They had no pressing war, not arguments to settle, and no war council to attend.

They had nothing but time and one another. Jaime dropped to his knees when her full, lush form was revealed. She was stunning. Ripe and round, she cradled her stomach as he pressed kisses to her tummy.

"Hello, babies," Jaime whispered to her stomach, and Sansa smiled softly at the picture he made. He wasn’t shy about expressing just how much he loved her. "I'm going to make your mother quite happy now. Look away."

"Jaime," Sansa said, laughing at him, blushing only slightly. She loved the attention her husband paid her.

"Hush, and let me worship you, wife," he said, making her moan with lips and tongue.

Gods, he missed being with her. He was overwhelmed with the thought that she was his now, for all their days. He'd ridden North, fully intending to die in that war, and found her. It was the single most significant accomplishment in his life; earning the love of such a woman, becoming a husband and soon a father. Being King hardly ranked in his list of accomplishments when compared to Sansa.

"Be as loud as you like. No one can hear us, Sansa. It is just you and me, and I want to hear you scream," he told, wiggling his eyebrows at her. Seeing her smile, he resumed his attentions to her. Sansa threaded her hands through his hair and kept him where he was until she did as he wanted and cried out his name, pleasure lacing the word.

Only slightly satisfied, Jaime ran the water in the largest bath, undressed and pulled her into his arms, where they lounged together, eventually scrubbing each other clean. Jaime loved to wash her hair and nipped and sucked at her neck as he did so. She touched him, bolder now that she knew what he liked, and Jaime groaned as her hand closed around his hardened length.

"If you keep touching me like that, I'll be useless in the bed," he warned her, and Sansa grinned. What he hadn't been prepared for was for her to take him into her mouth. She'd never done so before, and he was too shocked to stop her. When he heard her happy little groans, he let her have her way, until he pulled her off.

"I want to finish inside you, Sansa," he explained when she looked confused.

She nodded, and he carried her, both of them naked to the enormous bed in their bedchambers. He looked down at her, his wife, lush and beautiful and his. She smiled at him and held herself still for his pursual. She was no longer ashamed of any part of her body; Jaime loved every inch of her.

He leaned over her and kissed her. "I love you, wife."

"I love you, as well, husband."

He sunk into her wet heat and groaned as she sheathed him. She felt like no one else. His wife. He moved gently, drawing out both their pleasure, watching her face as she met his thrusts, loving how trusting and eager she was. When it all became too much, he ensured she peaked first, and then willingly followed her into the incomparable pleasure that he found in her body alone.

As promised, they lay entwined in one another as Jaime fed her morsels of food, letting the warm sea air wash over their skin. They had time; a luxury that had been afforded to neither one of them before. Jaime was determined to take every moment he could with her.

Jaime spent the first month with his wife, showing her the Rock in its entirety. She got lost more than once, laughed about the sheer size and grandeur of it, and happily followed him wherever he led them.

One of the best days had been when they went to the beach. Jaime had dragged her into the warm water, even against her protests. They'd laughed and splashed like children; Sansa having never experienced anything quite like it. He made love to her on the blanket he had brought with them, licking the salt from her skin and then confessed he longed to see their children play here as well.

"We did, as children. It was magical," he said, resting he head on her stomach. He'd convinced Sansa to remain mostly naked as he traced the freckles on her pale skin with his finger. His eyes flicked to the caves in the distant. "Tyrion and I were pirates, often, and although the caves were forbidden, we were boys and had to explore them. We angered my father more than once when our minders couldn’t find us."

Sansa smiled at him. "And what will you do, Jaime, if there is a son, who is a mischievous as you?"

He grinned.

"I suppose I'll spend my days chasing after him."

"Do you ever wonder what we are having?"

Jaime shook his head, and she saw him grow serious. "As long as you and they are healthy, I'll be happy. Two girls, two boys, a boy and a girl. Whatever they are, they are precious Sansa."

He cradled her stomach, one golden hand and one flesh and met her eyes.

"They are," she whispered.

With the constant threat of war behind them, she found that she could spend hours thinking about their children. She loved that they would be born here. It was a place that had been singularly untouched by war and felt like a refuge. Then Jaime chased all thoughts of babies and war from her mind as he sunk into her. He made her moan his name, with nothing but the waves and the sea as a witness to their love again and again.

She watched in utter astonishment as Jaime changed before her very eyes, both in looks and temperament since being back at the Rock. It was warm in the south, and he did not need his armour here, so he was often clad in only a tunic and breeches, which she loved. He was such a handsome man and his hair became more golden by the day, and the years fell from his face and eyes.

But it was the peace and contentment that settled over him that Sansa loved the most. He was happy here; carefree, boyish, charming and adoring. He flourished in his role as the Protector of the West and indeed as Lord of Casterly Rock. He spent hours riding the Westerlands, ensuring the people they would rebuild, providing crops for those who had lost men in war, and even ensuring the orphanages in nearby Lannisport had their full support. She could see his love for his people and his land.

He had been correct when he'd stated that a vein of gold had yet to be mined in the deep caves beneath their Castle, and both he and Sansa knew that the Lannister's would remain the wealthiest House in Westeros for generations and with heirs on the way, both Jaime and Sansa were grateful for this.

Tyrion sent ravens daily it seemed. Bronn had settled into his Castle with hardly a protest, although he was now angling for a wife. Varys had re-established his network of little birds, while Baelor focused on rebuilding their fleet. Nobody trusted the Ironborn, least of all Jaime, and he felt good that the Crown’s fleet of ships could take on Yara should she make a move. So far, things from the Ironborn had been quiet.

More importantly, the Hightower's had proven to be a particularly astute choice in ruling the Reach. Production had already begun to refill granaries across Westeros, and the Hightower's seemed almost slavishly devoted to Jaime and Sansa for being selected over the Florent's. They had moved into Highgarden with astonishing speed and had done an incredible job at commanding the respect of their vassal houses, due in large part to the incredible number of them that had survived the two wars.

Samwell and Gilly had married in a small ceremony, and Sam had taken to being the new Lord of Horn Hill. Sansa could tell there was a melancholy to him about never becoming a Maester, but she encouraged him to make Horn Hill a beacon for learning in the Reach after Oldtown.

Sandor, Pod and Yohn were content at the Rock. Sansa and Lord Royce met daily to respond to ravens that arrived non-stop. Royce had to admit that the Rock was an impressive Castle, although he still maintained that the Eyrie was more impregnable. That had resulted in a heated debate between him and Jaime one evening when they had been in their cups.

"It is either impregnable or not, Bronze," Jaime cried and threw his head back and laughed. “Not more or less.” Sansa loved the friendship that had developed between the two men.

"And the Eyrie has never been breached. Not even by choice, young Lion," Royce shot back and Jaime shook his head. He'd never live down his decision to allow the Unsullied to take the Rock; even for a mere second.

"You won't ever let me forget it, either," Jaime said, grinning.

"No, son, I won't."

The two men had grown even closer since they'd come to the Rock. Jaime never thought he'd earn the respect of such a man, sure that his reputation was too far gone for anyone to give him that again. But he could see it in the Vale knight's eyes, and it made Jaime happy.

As promised, Genna and her husband left for the Twins. She'd protested of course, but Jaime had been firm. They were needed there, and if she refused, it would be defying an order from the King of Westeros, not just the Lord of the Westerlands.

Jon had arrived back North and reported that the Wildings and Winterfell were doing well. Bran and Meera had settled in; happy to be with one another again. While everyone knew that it would be one of Jaime and Sansa's children that would inherit the North, having Bran there brought stability to the region and made the Northern houses happy.

Jon went further North and met with the Wildlings, ensuring that trade would exist between the far North and Winterfell. He hadn't yet made it to Dragonstone but assured Sansa he would. She was not so sure; he seemed happy being North again and not at all inclined in the least check in on his family seat. For the first time in his life, Jon had very little responsibility and seemed to revel in it. Jaime had tried to promise her that her cousin would find his place, eventually. After all, he’d been a prime example of a man that had rejected his duty for more than half his life.

Ser Davos and Brienne had the most challenging task, rebuilding the Stormlands. Sansa was beyond frustrated at how stubborn some of the houses were being and knew it was because Brienne was a woman that they were resistant to the change. It didn't help that she had backed Renly and some left there were still loyal to Stannis and could not forgive her for that perceived slight. In the end, Tyrion sent some Lannister forces to Storm’s End to ensure their cooperation.

As the weeks turned into months, Sansa pregnancy progressed, until she finally sent a raven to her family to tell them that the babies could arrive at any time. She'd heard from Arya only once and knew her sister would not make it back in time for their birth and while it made Sansa sad, she knew there was nothing to be done about it. Arya was stubborn and would arrive back on her schedule and no one else’s.

Surprisingly, Jon arrived three months after they had at the Rock, and without warning.

Jaime had been sparing in the yard with Pod, Sandor watching in amusement, when the shriek of a dragon dropped them all to their knees. When they scanned the sky, they saw Jon on Rhaegal, a broad grin on his handsome face.

"Fucking cunt," Sandor muttered. He hated the damn things, even if he understood that with the dragon, people all over Westeros would fall in line for Sansa and Jaime. It was too much power as far as he was concerned and wondered if anyone had a plan for the beast, long term. He made a note to talk with Sansa about it, maybe once Jon had left.

When Jon set Rhaegal down, the people streamed out of the Rock, many never having even seen a dragon before. Sansa had been resting, something she spent most of her time doing now as her time to give birth drew near, but as soon as she heard the dragon, she rose to find her cousin. She pushed through the crowd to see her Jon standing in the main courtyard at the Rock. He looked good. Happy. Relaxed. Peaceful.

He was chatting with Jaime, Pod and Sandor.

"Jon," she cried, and the people parted for her. He had a small bag slung over his shoulder and picked up his pace as he saw her. She was larger than he could have ever imagined, hugely pregnant with the twins. He caught her before she had to walk too far and hugged her close.

"Sansa look at you," he said, grinning. He doubted any woman, at eight months pregnant could honestly say they were well-rested, but she looked radiant. Happy and loved and healthy. There was no pinched look, no gown that doubled as armour, and no weapon around her throat. Instead, she wore a flowing dress of red along with Lannister gold around her neck and wrists. She looked like the Queen she was, even without the crown on her head. It was a bother to wear it most days, and if Jaime didn’t want to wear his, she wouldn’t be bothered with hers.

The three other men had followed Jon, so they were all standing there chatting when a small whimper came from the sac on Jon's side.

The smile on his face widened. "I almost forgot." He opened the bag and pulled out a small ball of fur, silver and grey.

Sansa gasped. "Jon?" Her voice wavered. She could hardly believe what she was seeing. He handed her the direwolf puppy.

"She's yours, Sansa."

Sansa's arms were suddenly filled with a wiggly, licking wolf pup that was yipping excitedly.

"How?" Sansa was almost afraid she wasn’t real.

Jon shrugged. "Ghost brought her home. I've no idea, Sansa. But I knew she was yours."

Her eyes were filled with tears as she held the pup closer to her. She turned to see the astonishment on Jaime's face. He wrapped his arms around his wife and reached over to pet the squirming puppy.

"She's beautiful, Sansa." She looked to see the joy on Jaime's face. They'd talked at length about the loss of Lady and how Sansa still felt it.

"She's mine?" Sansa's voice quivered.

"She is Sansa. I mean, Your Grace," Jon told her, winking at her title. She’d always be Sansa to him, no matter what everyone else called her.

"Jon." There was a wealth of unsaid emotion between them.

Jaime shook his head as he watched his very pregnant wife put the pup on the ground, where she sniffed and promptly pissed on Sandor's boots.

Surprisingly the big man didn't rebuke the wolf, only grinned. He met Sansa's eyes, and they both knew that an old wrong had been righted, finally. Sandor had been there the day her father had killed Lady and had seen the devastation in Sansa's face when her wolf had died. If nothing else, Jon Snow had given Sansa back a missing piece of her heart.

Jaime clapped him on the back. "Well, Clegane, when my wife cannot take care of her wolf, it looks like it'll be you."

Sandor grinned and picked the pup up, who licked his scarred face. He always liked animals better than people and it would be no hardship to have the wolf follow him around the Rock.

Jon settled into the Rock, happy to have time with his cousin and her husband. He could see easily how Jaime had been born to this life. The Kingslayer may deny it, but it had been his destiny all along. When Jon had flown over Casterly Rock, he'd been stunned at its size. Watching Jaime easily command men, armies, stewards and attendants, Jon knew without a doubt that he was the right man to be King.

Sansa was as in love with him as ever. A part of Jon would always wonder what might have been between them, had they known sooner about his birth parents, if he had not gone south, not slept with Daenerys. But he could not undo the past, and given everything that his cousin had endured, she deserved this happiness with Jaime Lannister. Jon might have been happy to rule the North and Winterfell, but the nine Kingdoms? It made him ill to even think about it.

Sansa's direwolf, now named Lya after Lyanna Mormont who'd killed a wight giant, giving her own life in the process, followed Sansa everywhere. Of course, at just over eight months pregnant, that wasn't far.

Jaime discovered on the very first night, what it meant to be wed to a woman who had a wolf for a pet when Sansa plunked the pup down on their bed. His eyebrows raised, and she huffed out a breath.

"Do not start with me, Jaime. She is a baby." He saw the determined set of Sansa’s jaw and knew the wolf would be sharing his bed no matter what he might say.

He snorted. A baby! Lya would grow into a monster, able to rip out a man's throat, but there was no dissuading his wife, and truthfully, he didn't mind that much, sharing his bed with two wolves. He knew the direwolf would rip any man’s throat out that dared tried to harm Sansa once she was fully grown.

Sansa was growing more and more uncomfortable, and he couldn't help but worry as the time for her labour grew closer. Women died in childbirth. It was a cold hard fact. He'd been with Cersei for the birth of one of their children and fully intended to be there for Sansa.

It was three days after her cousin arrived when the labour pains began, and true to his word, Jaime was by her side the entire time. She walked the endless hallways of the Rock, with Jaime, Jon, Sandor or Yohn by her side. Lord Royce had told each man that they would do whatever necessary for the Queen to bring her children into the world and no one questioned him. They all loved Sansa deeply.

Sansa had bonded with a local midwife, who had brought more Lannister babies into this world than she could count, and she assured Sansa that she had been born to do this.

Of course, Jaime had the Maester there as well, and after twelve gruelling hours, her water finally broke, and Sansa was ready to push.

Jaime cradled her in his arms, as she clung to him, bearing down to bring their first child into the world. He pressed kisses to her forehead, murmured words of encouragement, and never complained when she squeezed his good hand so hard he thought she might break his bones.

Finally, the midwife exclaimed that with one more push, their child would be here. Sansa grunted and screamed, and finally, a wail filled their chamber as their son took his first breath.

"A boy, Your Graces," the midwife pronounced, quickly handing the squalling baby into eagerly waiting hands to be cleaned. She massaged Sansa's stomach and core, rubbing her legs and telling her to catch her breath. As with most twin births, the second babe was eager to join the other. To Jaime's everlasting astonishment, Sansa bore down again, powering through the pain to birth another healthy child.

"Another boy, Your Graces," said the midwife, awed. She knew this was a boon for the West and Houses Lannister and Stark.

Jaime looked utterly stunned. He hadn't known what to expect, but two sons; two heirs had not been what he'd imagined. Sansa had tears streaming down her face, as the first baby was brought to her and placed on her chest, where she helped latch him to begin to nurse. He was so tiny and perfect.

"Jaime, your son," she whispered to him, awe in her voice. He looked down at him, just as the other was brought to them. With some slick maneuvering, they were able to get both babes nursing, and Sansa had such a look of peace and contentment on her face, that Jaime was awestruck.

"Our sons, Jaime. They are here," Sansa whispered, her eyes never leaving their tiny faces.

"Sansa, I don't even have words." He truly did not. He had longed for this day where he'd have legitimate children that would bear his name. "Hello little lions," he murmured to them, stroking their soft cheeks. They both had reddish-blond hair and blue eyes; although they had been warned, that might change. Neither Jaime nor Sansa cared. Their sons were perfect, no matter their eye colour or hair.

The small royal family was cleaned, bathed and washed and then settled into their chambers, contentment washing over the King and Queen. Lya was quite interested in the babies, sniffing and licking at them, and as they settled into their large bed, Jaime felt utter peace wash over him. He hadn't lost his wife to the birthing bed, and he had two healthy sons.

The ravens were sent throughout the Kingdom, announcing the birth of Damon and Eddard Lannister, making it clear that each boy would inherit his own Kingdom. Sansa had asked if Jaime wanted to name their first born after his father, but he had shaken his head no.

“Let him be his own man, Sansa.” For her part, she had loved her father and wanted to honor him with her second son, a son who in all likelihood would be the next heir to Winterfell.

Jon, Sandor, Yohn and Pod were in awe of the two Princes, both stunned that Sansa had given Jaime two boys. At least three of the men have never really been around infants before, although Royce had a number of children and remembered fondly the joy that came when his wife gave birth. Well wishes poured in from around the Kingdom, and Tyrion proclaimed from King’s Landing that the line of succession was secured.

Jon stayed for a month, not needing to, but reluctant to be on his way. He found he liked Casterly Rock and being around Jaime and Sansa. Before he left, Sansa insisted he go to Dragonstone for a time and stop into the Capital.

"It's because of the fucking dragon," he complained one day when he and Sansa were sitting on the terrace overlooking the Sunset Sea, each holding a child and having a conversation.

"Of course, it is. It would be impossible to travel the way you do without him," Sansa said.

Secretly, she was hoping that one day Jon would take her on Rhaegal's back, although she was careful not to mention that to Jaime again. When she had, once, she'd never seen him so angry or worried. Now was out of the question, having just given birth, but perhaps when he came back next time for a visit she could sneak away.

Jon was unsettled, that much was apparent to Sansa. He was happy, true, but didn't know his place and he’d never find it if he didn’t try. Flying around Westeros at his leisure was no way for him to find a wife.

"Don't you want a child of your own, Jon?" she asked him softly.

He raised his eyes and met hers. "Perhaps. For so long, Sansa, I never even allowed myself to hope for one, being a bastard. I wouldn't do that to any child." Sansa felt her heartache at how her mother had treated him. She'd made her peace with Jon for their relationship as children.

"And now? You're no longer a bastard, Jon. You never were."

He gave her a small grin. "I know. Perhaps. There's still time." He smirked. "You're husband isn't exactly young, cousin."

She stuck her tongue out at him. She missed her family, and she loved having Jon here. They'd worked hard to get to a good place again; a position of trust and friendship that they used to have. Jon respected her, could see her worth, and knew that she was well loved here in the south. With reassurances that Bran and Meera and indeed the North were prospering, Sansa didn’t feel the incessant tug to go home. Not yet at least.

When Jon finally left, he promised he'd go to Dragonstone, but first, he was going to the Reach to visit Sam as well as the Stormlands to check on Davos.

He'd become the envoy for the King and Queen, and word travelled fast throughout the Kingdom that one might never know when Jon Targaryen might arrive. He'd become more comfortable with his real name, although he'd never be Aegon. Riding a dragon, though, he couldn't precisely be known as a Snow anymore and finally accepted that he was both wolf and dragon. He’d had long talks with Jaime about accepting and owning some of the poor decisions that he had made, as well as being willing to move forward in the future.

It became apparent to Jaime that he would not be leaving the Rock for the Capital for their annual meeting with the great Houses. He would never leave his sons and his wife alone and had no desire to rule without Sansa by his side. For all he cared, the other Kingdoms could declare their independence and leave him and Sansa the North and the West. Even though that was their plan eventually, there was still work to do, and many regions were not quite ready for such a step.

Instead, Sansa proposed that those who had met at the Dragon Pit a year ago come to the Rock. They had both decided that they would never again rule from King's Landing. For now, the west was their home; everyone could come to them. They ordered their small council here, along with representatives from each of the Kingdoms.

They were curled up in their bed inside their chambers when they’d come to this conclusion. Sansa had just finished nursing Damon and handed him off to Jaime, who shirtless, burped his son and then placed him on his chest. Lya, ever present, wiggled closer on her tummy towards Jaime and his first born son from Sansa to lick at him. Sansa swore her wolf thought the babies were her brothers, having known them from almost the moment she’d arrived at the Rock.

“Sansa, are you sure?” Jaime asked again. He didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize their rule, and he worried he was being selfish by demanding everyone arrive at the Rock.

She had just latched Ned, when she gave him a look that said, don’t be silly Jaime. She smiled at him.

“We are allowed to have our idiosyncrasies, Jaime. And think of how things were done before. It wasn’t exactly like that worked out well for the majority of people, did it?”

He smiled a bit ruefully at that statement. It was fair and true. King’s Landing was a pit of lies and deceit and cunning. Here at least, everyone was loyal, the Castle was a fortresses and they controlled everyone who came and went. Here they were safe. That was all that mattered to Jaime.

“What if they refuse?”

Sansa shrugged, looking down at her son currently nursing. They had discovered early on that they were identical twins, something even rarer in their world, but there was subtle differences that both her and Jaime could see. Their eyes had indeed remained blue, although their hair had lightened considerably, so now it was more blond than red.

“I don’t care. I’ll send Jon to remind any who might balk at our command.” She let out a breath and reached for Jaime’s hand. “Eventually, this will be done. We’ve heard nothing but good stories about the efforts to rebuild across the land, Jaime. In a few years, there will be regions ready for their independence, including the West and the North. But it will take time, and the Great Houses need to come and report to us, to still pledge their allegiance and swear fealty.”

He grinned then, loving it when she went all fierce wolf wife on him. He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. The twins had recently starting sleeping through the night, which meant that for the past few weeks, Jaime had his bed back and his wife all to himself. She’d been nervous the first time they’d been together after their birth, although Jaime dissuaded her of any such notion that he didn’t want her. She was even more beautiful to him now. Still, running a Kingdom and caring for two small babies meant they’d had few and far times to be together. Now with his sons in their own adjacent room, Jaime was happy to make love to his wife each evening.

Rising, they readied their sons for bed, and then stood hand in hand, gazing in wonder at them. Both were still quite stunned at their arrival, neither one having thought that this might ever been an outcome given their past. When Sansa snuggled deeper into Jaime’s arms, she sighed happily, feeling him stroke her to readiness.

“If you keep this up, it won’t be long until you’ll have another child on the way, Jaime,” she told him, twisting slightly to kiss him.

He grinned and deepened the kiss. “And would that be a bad thing, my little wolf?”

She shook her head. “You know it’s not, Jaime.” Both of them wanted a large family and as Jaime sunk into her, she thought that perhaps in a month, when everyone arrived, they’d be able to announce another royal pregnancy.

She loved her husband and her sons, and Sansa wanted more children. She snuggled deeper into his arms, happiness stealing over her in a breathless rush. They had done it; they were ruling from Casterly Rock, had united a Kingdom and produced heirs. Sansa felt Jaime’s hand settle over her stomach.

“Perhaps a daughter this time, with red hair and blue eyes,” Jaime whispered into her ear, and Sansa smiled, turning and pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Perhaps my love. Perhaps.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sweetness overload and I make no apologies. 
> 
> If you want chaotic and depressing, watch Season 8!

The Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was a sight these days. Newly pregnant with her third child, Sansa glowed as her large direwolf followed her around Casterly Rock everywhere. She was more at home here than she had been anywhere; including, she thought, Winterfell somewhat surprisingly. Her home in the North was bittersweet, combining both the best and worst memories she ever had until she'd come to the West.

The Rock was, without doubt, unmatched in its grandeur and splendour in the Kingdom, and Sansa healed here. It was a place that only had good memories associated with it for her. Her sons had been born here. Her husband had flourished here. Her marriage had become stronger here, so much so that her feelings for her husband fairly poured out of her each day.

She had created a new life with Jaime, here at the Rock. She had shucked off her heavy gowns and had grown used to the sun and the salt on her skin. She loved it here, and she ruled here. She knew they would go North again; if for no other reason then to settle their second-born son into his role as Lord of Winterfell, but for now, and the foreseeable future, Jaime and Sansa would rule from the Rock and it made them both deliriously happy. 

Her husband was still as insatiable for her as ever; attentive, kind, gentle and sweet. He brought her endless presents, doted on their sons and laughed with the people he ruled, who adored him. Sansa swore he was every childhood dream she had, come to life; a kind, loving, strong man who loved her.

He'd even become so comfortable that he'd abandoned the ridiculous golden hand, having a sensible hook fitted for his arm when he felt like wearing it. Other times, Jaime went without anything, finally accepting his disfigurement without shame. 

Sansa too had allowed more and more people to see some of the scars left on her body. It had been impossible to hide them from her handmaidens, although those women were so singularly devoted to her that they'd sooner cut out their own tongues than betray her confidences. The real test had been when Sandor had come across her, nursing one of the twins in the solar when Jaime had been in Lannisport. Sansa had never in her entire life seen him so angry when he noticed the scars on her body, and his eyes filled with venomous rage.

"What the fuck did that cunt do to you, Little Bird?" he all but snarled into the room. She wanted to shrink back, to cower in the face of such fury, but she held his gaze and told him everything in a cold and emotionless tone. He smashed his fist into a stone wall, blood running down his huge forearm. It was at that moment that she realized he blamed himself for what had happened to her, and her heart broke for him.

"Sandor, stop. There was nothing you could have done."

He swivelled back to her, his grey eyes glittering. "Should have forced you to come with me that night."

She shook her head. She'd long ago made peace with the path their lives had taken. "And what might have happened to Arya had you done that?" She asked softly and saw when the anger left him, and his shoulders slumping over and his eyes downcast. When he raised his head to hers, he had tears in his eyes.

"It shouldn't have happened, Sansa."

She reached out and grasped his hand. "No, it shouldn't have. A lot of things shouldn't have happened Sandor."

They stayed like that for a time, until she handed him Damon and watched as his jaw dropped open, his massive hands cradling her son for the first time. She knew he'd never harm the boys; in fact, he'd most likely be the greatest defender after Jaime.

"Sansa, don't," he said, panic in his voice. Sansa grinned, and looked up, just in time to see her husband leaning against the doorway, a smile on his handsome face.

"You will be fine, Sandor."

Sandor stared down in awe at the three-month-old, whose hair was now blonder than it had been at his birth. His bright blue eyes found Sandor's and he gazed, owlishly up at the big man.

"What if I hurt him?" It was barely more than a whisper.

"You won't," Sansa said easily as she sat down in a chair opposite to him and nursed Ned. Her son's had appetites of true lions. 

Sandor shook his head at her, unable to comprehend why she trusted him so much.

Jaime sauntered into the room and placed his hand on Sandor's shoulder. "They like to stare these days," Jaime said, grinning at his friend, and stroking a finger down his son's soft cheek. It never failed to awe Jaime that he had sons with HIS name. 

Sandor just looked at the Kingslayer, not sure what to say. Jaime was never jealous of the time he spent with Sansa, instead of knowing that having the big man around made his wife feel safe. Sandor had been thinking more and more about his own life. He knew he'd never leave the West unless Jaime and Sansa did; his fate was tied to theirs. But holding Damon Lannister, a small part of Sandor wanted this for himself, and he vowed to be more open to the possibility of a wife. There had been plenty of worthy women who had given him encouraging looks since they'd been back at the Rock, but he'd snarled them all away. Maybe he shouldn't do that, he thought, looking again at Jaime's son in his hands. 

He cleared his throat and looked at Jaime. "Umm, about Clegane Keep," he started to say. Jaime smiled at him, dropping a kiss onto Sansa's lips and taking his other son from her arms. Jaime held him easily, loving the weight of his son in his arms. 

"Say the word and work will begin, Clegane."

Sandor nodded. "I'd like that."

The men's gazes held, and something unspoken passed between them, as the three adults settled into a companionable silence, each one relishing the calm in their day to day lives.

Work began within the week on the ruined Castle, and even though Sandor had no idea if he would ever live there, it felt right that he was rebuilding it.

The twins were eight months old when the first riders appeared on the horizon. A steward announced that it was Ser Brienne of Tarth, Tormund Giantsbane and Ser Davos Seaworth. Sansa and Jaime were thrilled; they were the first to respond to their summons, and they had missed their friends dearly. Both Sansa and Jaime watched as they rode into the huge Castle.

They saw, amused as Tormund gazed around the Rock, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. He'd been living at Storm's End for almost two years, and still wasn't used to the sheer opulence that those in the South had.

Brienne and Tormund quickly informed Jaime and Sansa that they were betrothed. When they asked when the wedding was, the Wilding grumbled that it wasn't that complicated in the North and he'd only have to steal her up there for her to be his wife. Brienne shushed him, but a blush had spread across her cheeks. It was clear that Tormund's flame for Brienne burned as bright as ever. 

"We wanted your blessing, Your Graces," she said to Jaime and Sansa, finally meeting their gazes. "Before we wed."

Jaime's grin was huge, and he slapped Tormund on the back, congratulating him. 

"Can you imagine our children? They're going to be huge," Tormund said in awe, sending Jaime, Sandor, Yohn and Davos into fits of laughter.

Sansa knew the Wildling had to love Brienne very deeply to be willing to give up the North for her. Later, Brienne and Sansa spent time observing the Princes and Brienne hesitantly asked Sansa what it was like to be a mother.

Sansa arched an eyebrow at Brienne, whose face blushed a deep scarlet.

"How far gone are you?" Sansa asked.

"Two months, Your Grace."

Sansa snorted. "I think we can get rid of the Your Grace, Ser Brienne. It's just us."

Then Sansa smiled and grasped Brienne's hand. "It is the best feeling in the world, my friend. And to have a man that loves you, by your side- even better."

Brienne let out a relieved sigh. The time to talk politics would come; now they were simply two women, bonding over men and babies. Sansa called for food, and they spent a pleasant evening away from the men, eating and re-establishing their friendship- this time on equal ground. Sansa realized that she would never have a more loyal female companion, except perhaps Arya, then Brienne, and it was a joy to be able to speak freely with her. Sansa had worried that something had broken beyond repair between them when Jaime and Sansa had married and fallen in love. She was happy that Brienne had found love. 

Later when Sansa climbed noisily into bed later, Jaime watching in utter amusement at her antics. She hit him on the chest. She only got clumsier that more her pregnancy progressed, but still insisted on doing things herself. 

"Brienne is pregnant," Sansa blurted out and watched as Jaime's eyes widened and then he laughed, his whole body shaking.

"Gods, no wonder we couldn't wipe the smile of that Wildling's face," Jaime said, shaking his head, before drawing his wife into his arms.

"Jaime," Sansa said, moaning and rubbing up against him. She had such a need for him these days, and he was more than happy to oblige, sinking into her warmth and pleasuring them both, before she fell asleep in his arms, a satisfied smile on her face.

Over the next few weeks, all the others arrived.

Tyrion and Varys came with Baelor Hightower, via the sea and docked at Lannisport. It was a much more comfortable journey than overland, and both Jaime and Baelor wanted the show of force on the western side of Westeros in case the Iron Born got any funny ideas. Jaime rode to the nearby city, eager to see his little brother and welcome him back to his home.

Jaime watched as Tyrion saw how the Westerlands had recovered under him and Sansa, and the dwarf praised his brother.

"You're never going to rule from King's Landing again, are you?"

Jaime shook his head. "We are happy here, brother."

Jaime was only too happy to never see that hellish place ever again. He had no idea how Tyrion stayed there. It was the stuff of nightmares for both Jaime and Sansa. 

Tyrion could see it. Jaime was a changed man; confident, handsome and entirely in charge here in the West. His authority was absolute, but unlike either Tywin or Cersei, the people here loved him. His power came from their adoration and not fear.

When they arrived at the Rock, Sansa was waiting, her wolf by her side as she pressed a kiss to Tyrion's cheek.

"Would you like to meet them?" she asked, and Tyrion could see the pride on Jaime and Sansa's faces when they spoke of their sons. 

"Of course," and the three hurried to the nursery where the Princes were waking from their naps. Tyrion stood in stunned awe of them. There was no doubt they were Lannister's, only with Sansa's blue eyes. They recognized Jaime and Sansa, and each holding a son, they sat, as Tyrion met his nephews for the first time. He could see the love on Jaime's face, and Tyrion knew his brother had waited his entire life to have this moment.

Jaime and Tyrion stayed up late that night, drinking wine and reminiscing about their lives here.

"She likes it here?" Tyrion asked. He thought back to when he thought Sansa might be his along with this Castle.

Jaime nodded; his eyes almost closed.

"She loves the Rock. I cannot wait for our sons to discover the caves, to play in the sea, Tyrion. This is our home."

Tyrion had never seen Jaime like this; like the man their father had wanted him to be, and he could begrudge him nothing, happy he'd finally found his place.

The next two visitors were Edmure Tully and Robin Arryn, having decided to travel together. Sansa's cousin had grown up even more in the past two years, and she knew that when he left to go back to the Vale, Lord Royce would accompany them. Her greatest friend had given them over a year of loyal service and had been away from his beloved homeland for so long. It was time for him to go home. She would miss him dearly, but he'd been there for her in a time of her greatest need and he'd always remain fiercely loyal to her. 

Sansa's Uncle, Edmure, was still profoundly uncomfortable with Jaime and wore a permanently dissatisfied look on his face, but Sansa had no time for his antics. The Riverlands had been one of the most decimated regions in all of Westeros, and she spent considerable time helping her Uncle rebuild that region.

The Dornish prince arrived, along with his new, lovely wife. They were a stunning couple, and he seemed happier than he had at the meeting in the Dragon Pit. When Sansa asked him about it, he gave her an open and honest look. "You kept your word, Your Grace."

When she frowned, he continued. "I half expected to be roasted by dragon fire on my trip home. But not only has that not happened, but you've also allowed trade to flourish between regions. While we would like nothing more than to build our army to more than 10,000 men, all your other demands have been reasonable. Westeros has never seen peace like this."

Sansa was stunned and for once, had almost nothing to say. The handsome man gave her a soft smile and a quiet laugh. "Do not be so shocked. We all suffered under mad and cruel rulers. Why is it a surprise we would flourish under a benevolent one?"

Jaime caught the tail end of the conversation and wrapped his arms around Sansa, nuzzling her neck. "He is right, little wolf. You were born to be Queen."

The most shocking entrance came from Jon, who had flown North to retrieve Bran Stark. He'd argued with his cousin but eventually persuaded him to go south, if for no other reason than to see his nephews. They had worked out a harness system, and even though Bran protested, Jon saw a look of wonder on his face as he soared with Rhaegal.

"I've done this. As a crow, you know," he told Jon when they had camped the first night.

Jon shook his head, unable to believe that Bran was comparing riding a dragon with warging into a crow; but that was Bran. When they got to the Rock, Sansa almost threw herself into Bran's arms, sobbing that she was thrilled to see him. Bran felt something warm trickle through him and knew that Jon had been correct. His sister had needed to see him.

She proudly introduced Bran to his nephews, while Jon looked on in awe at how big they had grown.

Jon hugged Sansa close to him.

"They're amazing, Sansa," he told her truthfully. She caught something in his eyes at that moment, and hers narrowed.

"Who?" was all she said, and Jon had the grace to blush.

"Talla Tarly," he said, grinning almost sheepishly. Sansa let out a happy cry and threw her arms around Jon.

"I'm so happy for you, Jon."

He grinned and ran a hand through his curls.

"We're going to try Dragonstone. She was head of Horn Hill, for a time, when Sam didn't know what he was doing. And she loves it there with her brother and Gilly. But she wants her own keep."

Sansa grinned, so happy for Jon. She never thought she'd see the day when he would take a chance with another woman. "They're travelling here, her and Sam. I know Sam isn't technically needed…" Jon started to say, but Sansa waved a hand.

"He was invited, Jon. And I can't wait to meet her." Sansa knew she had to be a special woman, and when she told Jaime, his face broke out into a huge grin.

"About time he found his own wife. Now he can stop pinning for mine," her husband said, kissing her hard. Sansa knew that Jaime always harboured a bit of jealousy over the closeness between her and Jon, even though she had never felt like that about her cousin.

Followed quick on Jon's arrival, Arya and Gendry appeared outside the Rock one afternoon. She was brown as a nut, fit and happy, and threw herself into Sansa's arms when her sister had been informed of her arrival. When Sansa all but dragged her to meet Damon and Ned, Arya promptly burst into tears as she held Damon.

"Seven hells, what is wrong?" Sansa said, looking at her sister with a bewildered expression on her pretty face. 

Arya's eyes looked down at the baby in her arms.

"I'm pregnant," she whispered, and Sansa's face broke out into a huge grin.

She wouldn't make the mistake of asking if Arya wanted the child, or if she would marry, or even stay in one place. She enveloped her sister in a hug, holding her tightly.

"I think I want to go home, San. To Winterfell, for a time, with Gendry."

Sansa stroked her cheek. "I think that would be lovely, Arya."

"You're not coming, are you?"

Sansa shook her head. "For a visit, maybe. But this is my home now."

Both sisters looked at one another, and then the tears started again. When Jaime and Gendry walked in on them, their faces were red and splotchy, but they had a sense of peace and contentment about them.

"When are you going to marry her?" Jaime asked in a low voice to Gendry.

He gave the man an incredulous look. "I've asked her once a week since we fucking sailed away."

Jaime threw his head back and laughed. "Keep trying. Brother."

Gendry startled that and looked at Jaime.

Jaime shrugged. "You are in all but name." Gendry looked slightly awed at that prospect. If he and Arya married, his goodsister would be the Queen. 

The Tarly siblings were the last to arrive, rolling into the Rock three days after Arya. Sansa and Jaime watched as Jon went to Talla, helping her from the carriage. She was a lovely woman, her eyes sparkling as she gently teased Jon. Sansa could see immediately why her cousin had fallen for her, and her heart almost burst with joy over their sweet reunion. Of course, Sam was equally pleased that his best friend was going to marry his sister. At twenty one Talla was excited to start a family. 

The only blight was the response for the Iron Born. They had not responded, nor had they shown up. Sansa frowned and knew that she'd be sending men to deal with Yara Greyjoy and her stubborn pride. When she informed Ser Baelor Hightower of this, the man let out a fierce roar and promised his Queen he would bend the Iron Born or wipe them from the map.

Sansa knew that it was an impossible expectation to think that they might exist without war, but she was so angry at Yara and her stubbornness.

"I trust you, Ser Baleor, but try diplomacy first, if you can," she said, a tight set to her face.

The following weeks were filled with drinking and entertainment, meetings and councils and discussions about each region.

The North was prospering under the guidance of Bran Stark and the agreements made with the Wildlings, along with the new trade established by Arya. Everyone learned that the youngest Stark sister would be returning to her northern home, along with her consort Gendry.

The Riverlands were slowly being rebuilt, and there were so few great houses left that there were almost no skirmishes. Genna Lannister and Emmon Frey had taken over the Twins, and that passage remained open to all those that were loyal to the King and Queen.

The Reach was by far the most prosperous region after the Westerlands. They produced copious amounts of grain and livestock to help feed the poor areas, and the Hightower's were firmly entrenched in Highgarden. Samwell had done as Sansa had suggested and made Horn Hill a beacon of learning for all those who didn't want to be Maesters but who craved something more than a life as a knight.

Dorne, as the Prince had indicated, was pleased with the new trade and lack of war. The relatively unknown entity of the new Prince made it, so that old, bitter hurts were long gone, and the region promised to continue to send food North in exchange for goods required in the southern region.

The Stormlands were in utter ruin, although Brienne and Ser Davos had worked tirelessly to restore them to the best of their ability.

Ser Davos gave Sansa a look. "It's a mess, Your Grace. But we are getting there." Sansa sighed, knowing that he spoke the truth.

The Vale, which had suffered the least under the wars of the past decade, was happy to contribute what they could, and Robin looked particularly pleased that Lord Royce was coming back with him.

The Crownlands and in particular King's Landing was still undergoing repairs. Ser Addam Marbrand, along with Tyrion was fully in control of the Capital, while Bronn had settled nicely into his Castle. Now with Jon and Talla establishing themselves at Dragonstone, Sansa trusted that no one would be too power-hungry. Rhaegal had a way of making everyone do as they were bid.

When all eyes turned to Jaime and Sansa, the King rose and addressed the room. "We will not be leaving the Rock. My Queen is happy here, and the West is prospering. We will continue to rule from here."

There wasn't a single surprised look amongst the group, most grinning at the love shared between the King and Queen of Westeros. There were still endless discussions to be held; minor skirmishes to deal with, marriages to be arranged, empty castles still to fill. But by and large, peace had come to Westeros and those gathered were the reason why.

Late that night, cuddled in Jaime's arms, Sansa listened as the waves crashed against the Rock.

"We are so close, my love," Sansa said, pressing a kiss to Jaime's bare chest. He let his hand stroke down her back, neither one even noticing the raised scar tissue anymore.

"So close to what, love?" Jaime asked, swept away again by his love for her.

She tilted her head to his. "So close to having independent regions. So close to peace. So close to breaking the wheel."

He kissed her then, slow and deep, lingering over her taste. She'd had more than one lemon treat tonight after dinner. "We are, my love."

"I want that for them, Jaime, so badly I can almost taste it," she said, and he held her closer. He did, as well. The thought of sending his sons off to war made his blood run cold.

"We will do it, Sansa. They will have a better world than ours, I promise you," and for the first time in what felt like forever, Sansa believed him. She finally allowed herself to hope and it felt like the sun had finally broken through the darkest days of her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an epilogue left-- have I missed anything? Anyone you're curious about and how their life looks in my little world? Let me know in the comments. 
> 
> I've really enjoyed re-writing this season 8 story with Jaimsa as the main couple featured and I hope you have as well.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have loved, loved being aboard the Jaimsa ship.
> 
> I know I can be a hard author to follow, and for that, I appreciate all your patience. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this sweet little epilogue

** _ Three years later _ **

Sansa laughed, the sound bright and cheerful as she watched her sons, now four, climb on Sandor. They were in the family solar, a place they regularly gathered after the evening meal, and when the boys needed to burn off some of their endless energy.

The large man, who'd become a surrogate Uncle to her sons, rumbled out a massive laugh as they pulled and tugged at him. The princes of the realm, who now resembled their father in all ways, were fierce little warriors who loved to roughhouse and play with their father, Pod and Sandor.

They already had little wooden play swords, presented to them at their fourth nameday which had happened a fortnight ago.

The Queen wondered for a moment where her husband was, but Jaime and their daughter, now two and a half, had disappeared right after their meal had been consumed. There had been some hushed whispers between the two, and then they'd snuck out of the dining hall. Sansa had no doubts they'd be back; her daughter had Jaime wrapped around her little finger.

When Sansa had given birth to their daughter, Jaime had held her reverently, his eyes filled with tears. After a time, he'd looked at Sansa and asked quietly if they might name her Joanna after his beloved mother, and Sansa had quickly agreed. He asked her for so little; instead proving to her every day how much he loved her by continuing to be loving and giving and kind to her and their growing family.

Sansa knew that Jaime still felt she was the real ruler of the Kingdom, but each day since they'd been back at Casterly Rock, she watched him grow more confident and capable in his role as King. He was compassionate when needed, cutthroat when called for and decisive when required. They had indeed made good on their promise to rule from the Rock and had kept the peace in Westeros since that fateful battle in King's Landing over four years ago.

Sansa was brought back to the present by a sharp bark from Lya, who was tugging on Ned, the second and more daring of the twins having scaled a couch to climb onto Sandor's back. She pulled at her charge, and he laughed and clung to her neck. Sansa's wolf had taken to the twins as if they were her pups, and Sansa knew her sons were the safest boys in the Kingdom.

She let her hand rest on her stomach, telltale nausea already alerting her to the fact that she was most likely pregnant again. Jaime was insatiable in bed, and it was not uncommon that he coupled with his wife each night, unable to get enough of her. Sansa blushed when she thought about the boys bursting in on them one delightful afternoon, and an embarrassed Sandor chasing them out of their bedroom. From that moment on, Jaime had ensured he'd barred the door. Sansa would have thought that such an interaction would have cooled her husband's desire, but he dove back under the covers, spreading her legs and feasting on her. Sansa was sure that had been the afternoon this latest child had been conceived.

Now she watched in amusement as Jaime and Joanna entered the family room, her daughter, who looked identical to her, dressed as a knight, while Jaime was meant to be Rhaegal. All her children loved Jon's dragon, and shockingly enough, the giant beast loved them as well. Jaime had just about lost his mind when Jon indicated that the dragon would be safe with them, but over time, and many visits, Jon had proven it. Of course, it helped that Rhaegal had accepted Talla and their son, and they visited often.

Sansa smiled in delight as Joanna came charging into the room, her two brothers looking on in envy at her costume, and then wild grins on their faces as they picked up their play swords and began to attack the dragon.

"No," Joanna shouted, trying desperately to defend her father from the attack.

"Sandy help," she cried, looking towards Sandor. Just like Jaime, the most enormous warrior in the Kingdom was putty in her daughter's tiny, demanding hands and he let out a fierce growl before he picked both boys up and swung them around, high in the air. There were delighted squeals and shouts, until finally, the princess knight, her dragon and her scarred warrior defeated the bad men.

Laughing the children ran from the room when one of Sansa's handmaiden's called them for a final snack before bedtime. Sandor shook his head and also took his leave, meaning Sansa and Jaime were alone.

"Hello, my little wolf," Jaime said, wiggling his eyebrows and almost purring at her. Sansa felt the heat bolt straight to her core. He was still so handsome that he stole her breath and he all but crawled over to her, on his knees, making her want him even more.

"Jaime," she said, her voice breathy and high.

When he got close, he sniffed at her and grinned. "I believe my wife wants me," he said and was delighted when she blushed. Then he saw where she had her hand, and he knew. "Sansa?"

She felt the tears come, happy ones, as she was always so emotional when she was pregnant. "Love, are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yes, Jaime. You've got your wife pregnant, again."

He placed his one hand over hers and kissed her reverently. She was his miracle; his second chance and he was in awe of her love for him and their children. He had everything he'd ever wanted in this room. He leaned up and kissed her softly.

"Love you, my Queen," he whispered against her lips.

"I love you, my King."

Lately, the ruling had become almost rote as those in Westeros worked to rebuild themselves, but Sansa could tell the time was coming when regions would once again demand their independence. Jaime and Sansa itched to give it to them.

In the North, her siblings ruled in some odd arraignment that worked for them. Both Bran and Meera and Arya and Gendry had married, so now there was an abundance of Stark's in the North. Arya and Gendry now had two children, a boy and a girl, and the wanderlust that had so gripped her sister had abated once her children arrived. Bran and Meera were unable to have children, and since Arya showed no signs of leaving, Sana had begun to think that perhaps her sister's son might inherit the North. It would allow Jaime and Sana's second son Ned to take the Stormlands and though they hadn't made any final decisions, Sansa knew in her heart the North would be the first to seek their independence. There was peace in the North, and the area had slowly repopulated. Castles had been filled, trade established with the Wildlings and the south, and the Starks were entirely in control.

Tyrion and Jon jointly ruled the Crownlands. Interestingly enough, Talla loved Dragonstone and had happily settled there with Jon, giving him one son already after their marriage. The last raven sent, the lovely woman had indicated she was pregnant again, and Sansa knew that her cousin had finally found his place. Jon had been spending more and more time in King's Landing as well, finally learning what it meant to rule such an important region and Sansa knew if he asked, she would gladly grant it to him.

Varys and Tyrion continued their friendship, the later still alone but less bitter than he had been. Tyrion had even managed to convince some lesser nobleman to marry his daughter to Ser Bronn, and Sansa and Jaime were confident that the region would be safe and secure.

The Stormlands were stable for now, although they all knew that the nobles of the region were waiting for one of Jaime and Sansa's children to take their rightful place as the ruler of Storm's End. It would be years until that happened, but in the meantime, Brienne, Tormund and Ser Davos had managed to quell the worst uprisings. It helped to have Jon and Rhaegal close by to ‘remind' those noble houses who was in charge.

Sansa's dearest friend and confidant, Lord Royce had returned with her cousin to the Vale, and Robin had yet to marry. He said he was in no rush, and at only twenty, Sansa knew he had time. Their region continued to be a strong supporter of Queen Sansa and King Jaime, and Sansa eagerly looked forward to their ravens. Sansa knew when the time came; the Vale would prosper.

Her Uncle Edmure and his wife Roslin had returned to the Riverlands. Sansa knew she'd never be close with her Uncle, but he'd had another son, and then a daughter and was slowly working on restoring the devastated region. Establishing Genna and her husband at the Twins had been a stroke of genius for Jaime as it ensured there was always a loyal Lannister at the critical crossing point between south and north.

The Reach flourished under the Hightowers, and Ser Baelor and Jaime exchanged ravens regularly, both men enjoying one another's company.

The Prince from Dorne had been one of the first Kingdoms to ask for military aid; the young ruler having heard of a coup to dethrone him. Jaime and Jon had both responded and earned his devotion and loyalty.

The one blight had been the Iron Born. Ser Baelor had sailed his ships North to treat with Yara at the end of their joint meeting three years ago but had been met with arrows and fire. Having no other choice, he routed the Iron Born and seized the islands for the Crown. Yara had perished in the battle, and now the islands were held by a distant cousin of Jaime's from the Westerlands, incorporated into their region.

Peace had meant that Sansa and Jaime had been able to live their lives focused on each other and their growing family. Jaime took particular pride in being a doting and attentive father and husband, and he was finishing kissing his wife when the happy cries of their children entered the room.

"Mama, Papa," they said, hurrying over to where Sansa sat, watching in delight as their father made their mother smile.

The twins, in particular, were happiest when the Queen was smiling, and Jaime grumbled that she'd bewitched them as well. As rough as they were with everyone else, they were gentle and loving with her. Jaime laughed and picked them up, Sansa rising with Joanna on her hip as they walked their children to their chambers to prepare them for bed.

It had been Sansa that had decided the children would have rooms adjoining theirs, and Jaime had no objections. They often ran into their room at the first morning light, delighted to snuggle in with their parents before their busy day started and they had never been rejected from such open affection from their children.

It was unlike Jaime had ever experienced in his life; either growing up or with Cersei. His heart ached from time to time when he thought of Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen and the price they had paid for his and Cersei's illicit affair. It hadn't been fair, he could see now, to them or him and none of them had stood a chance at happiness. Each day spent with his new family, with the wife he loved more than any other, healed another part of Jaime he hadn't realized had been damaged.

When they were tucked in, stories read, kisses bestowed and the room checked for monsters, Lya curled up in the middle of the floor, ready to guard her charges against anyone who might harm them, Jaime and Sansa took a moment to look at them in awe. 

Jaime reached for Sansa's hand, his face awash in love and wonder for the gifts he had been given. When they made it to their rooms, Jaime closed the door softly and took Sansa in his arms.

"Now wife, I am yours," he said, and pressed his lips to hers, delighted when they opened for him, and he could sneak his tongue inside her mouth. She moaned, and Jaime felt himself harden, and he eagerly reached for the stays on her dress. He was amazed at how much they loved one another and still needed each other; their desire having barely diminished over the past few years.

In fact, in some ways, Jaime would say it had only grown. He knew Sansa loved him and accepted him for all his flaws and poor decisions. She was the only woman who'd ever believed in him, seen the good in him and pushed him to be a better man.

Once he had her naked, he dropped to his knees and pressed a kiss to her stomach.

"Hello baby," he said, grinning in delight at the thought of another child.

Sansa smiled at the picture he made until he looked up at her and then said, "Spread your legs, little wolf. I'm hungry."

"Jaime," Sansa said, her voice squeaking, but doing as he commanded. He grinned and dove in, feasting on her and all she had to offer until she moaned his name. He smiled and brought her to the bed, where he sunk inside her, feeling her warmth and love surround him as he moved gently, kissing her and telling her how much he loved her. It was a testament to how far they came that Sansa no longer felt any shame in her body; not the scars or burns or bites. Jaime had healed every one with his steady love and acceptance of her, not to mention his praise and desire.

When they had both peaked, Jaime pulled Sansa into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Another lion, Sansa. I can hardly wait."

She laughed softly. She knew how much Jaime loved being a father. She loved being a mother as well, but still, something had to be said, as it was her that had to go through another labour. "I can wait for the birth," she grumbled, and Jaime held her tighter.

"You are so magnificent, my love. I don't know how you do it, Sansa," he said, his voice filled with pride for her. Sansa smiled, tilting her head to kiss him.

"I love you, Jaime Lannister."

"And I love you, Sansa Lannister."

** _ Three more years _ **

Jaime had just celebrated his fiftieth nameday, a milestone he had never thought he would see. He was holding the newest Lannister baby, his third son and fifth child, watching as his wife gathered the other children to give him the presents they had made.

Sansa had made a production of his nameday, inviting Jon and his wife and three sons, along with Tyrion, and Brienne and Tormund to Casterly Rock for the event.

Their fourth child, another girl, had been born healthy and followed quickly by another pregnancy and their latest son. The oldest boys, Damon and Ned now seven and Joanna, five, had taken a keen interest when Catey had been born. Now at three, their daughter thought the baby, Jason, was the best present she could have ever received.

Jaime took stock of the people that had come to celebrate his nameday. He had no idea how Sansa had pulled it off, but she had somehow managed it.

As predicted, the North had been the first Kingdom to be granted their independence, followed quickly by the Vale, the Riverlands and the Reach. Dorne was next, and then came the Crownlands, Jon Targaryen, finally acknowledging his destiny and taking control of that region.

The Stormlands remained under Jaime and Sansa's control until Ned was old enough to take his rightful place, and the Iron Islands remained under the power of the Westerlands for now. It meant that there were now eight independent regions, instead of seven united Kingdoms. It had taken hard work, sacrifice and more ravens than Jaime thought possible for them to get here, but finally, the vision his wife had way back in Winterfell, had come to fruition. Jaime had never been prouder of Sansa than when she was able to grant those regions their freedom, knowing this is what she had fought for. She had advocated for the freedom of the common people and those from their respective regions.

Jaime didn't often think back to the day he'd defied his sister and rode North. He tried to recall the feeling he had, knowing he was leaving the only woman he'd ever loved, sure that he would die, either by the Dragon Queen's hand or the Army of the Dead in the North, a place he hated. He could recall the moment he had seen Sansa again, how his heart had fallen in that moment, and how he knew his life was tied to hers. He couldn't have imagined that this would have been their future but was thankful each day it was. He could hardly believe that the North had given him his wife. 

Jaime was contemplative in that moment, happy with his life in a way he'd never imagined. He was healthy, had a beautiful wife and five adorable children. He'd more than earned back the honour he had thought lost to him for so long and had shed some of his awful mistakes. He missed his father, his sister and his children, but the ache receded more and more each year. He knew his father would be proud of him, for the man he'd finally become and the life he had created. Tywin would have never understood breaking the Kingdom apart, but he would have been wrong to try and keep it together. This was the correct path, and Jaime knew that.

As if knowing he was in his head, Sansa's eyes met his and she smiled at him, mouthing the words that he'd come to rely on hearing every day. "I love you."

Jaime wondered if his vow to Catelyn Stark would be considered fulfilled now, but even he knew he'd spend the rest of his life making his wife happy, ensuring their children were prepared for their future and making sure that peace was maintained. It was the best vow he'd ever taken, even if at the time he'd had no idea it would turn out this way for all of them. 

When Sansa and the four eldest reached him, his wife took the baby and Jaime allowed the others to climb up. His daughters held a special place, and both sat on his lap, showing them what they had made; drawings of some of his bravest deeds. His sons, his daring and bright boys, had a demonstration with their steel swords (dull blades) and Jaime could see their skill and desire.

Later, when the children had been put to bed, the adults sat and drank, comfortable with one another in a way that only those who had survived something terrible could be.

Jon and Talla, happy and in love, the forgotten Prince who was happiest with his wife and sons and dragon on an island in the south.

Tyrion with his wine and his paid companions, no longer needing to try to keep a horrid ruler like Joffrey in check.

Brienne and Tormund, in love and producing children almost as fast as he and Sansa. The red-headed Wilding had clapped Jaime on the back, but then a gleam had come into his eyes when he said his sons would be bigger than Jaime's. Jaime laughed but knew his sons would be skilled and more than able to hold their own in the years to come against the Wildling's massive offspring. 

Pod, who had married a woman from Lannisport and had grown into a proud knight and protector of his family, and loyal friend to Jaime and Sansa. 

And Sandor Clegane, Jaime's closest friend and confident. The big man had never gone back to Clegane Keep, preferring to stay at the Rock with Sansa and Jaime, but he had expressed interest in a widower that worked in the kitchens. She had two sons, ages eleven and ten, and Sandor had taken them under his wing. At thirty-five, she was a decade younger than Sandor and didn't seem to mind his scar at all. Sansa was bugging him to make her his wife, but so far he'd told the Little Bird to mind her own business. It was still shocking to Jaime that he could get away with talking to her like that, and she'd pouted prettily for days about it.

Sansa came and sat beside Jaime, and he pulled her onto his lap, happily drunk and so in love with her, he could hardly see straight. He grinned and kissed her and heard a cheer go up in the room.

He smirked and glanced at his friends.

"To Jaime Lannister. Who had the guts to ride North," came Tyrion's toast.

"To Jaime Lannister, the dumbest fucking cunt I know," came Sandor's, a smirk on the big man's face. 

"To Jaime Lannister, the only man who could make my sister as happy as she is," said Jon, meeting the green eyes of the man he'd once envied more than any other. 

"To Jaime Lannister, a true and honourable knight," said Brienne, emotion choking her voice. Jaime nodded at her. 

"To Jaime Lannister. The father of my children. The man who loved me when I thought I was unlovable. The man who fought for the living and then fought for the realm. To Jaime Lannister, the man I love with my whole heart," said Sansa, tears in her eyes.

"Sansa, my love," Jaime said, his voice choked with emotion. "To the Queen of Westeros and the best of us. Long may she live."

The Jaime Lannister kissed her again, and knew in his heart when he died; it would be as a man that had fulfilled the most important vow of his life; the one to keep Sansa Stark safe, and to love her for the rest of her days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do have plans to get back into the time travel Jaimsa....
> 
> But I have some other commitments. 
> 
> I'll be honest- writing in canon is much harder for me and takes a considerable amount of effort, where modern AUs I can whip out chapter after chapter.
> 
> I do have two more Jaimsa ideas, but promised myself I had to FINISH some of my WIPs first!
> 
> Also I took down my big canon piece to work on it offline- don’t get mad everything else is remaining up


End file.
